


Lingua Flora

by Raziel



Category: 19th Century CE RPF
Genre: :Lord M, F/M, Gen, Language of Flowers, Lingua Flora, Melbourne, Raziel - Freeform, Vicbourne, Victoria - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-06 12:40:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 81,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14057211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raziel/pseuds/Raziel
Summary: Follows Everything Changes





	1. Chapter 1

_Almond, Flowering: Hope_

_7:30am                                                                                                                                                         Brocket Hall_

_Lord Melbourne presents his humble duty to your Majesty and returns your Majesty the letters of the King of the Belgians with many thanks…In writing this response to your letter of 12:30am, I have delayed inexcusably. The courier did not succeed in rousing my people until sometime after 2 and then I had not the resolve to send him straightaway back due to the severe thunderstorm then taking please in the vicinity of Hatfield. This morning I am told several trees went down in the park._

_The King Leopold, Lord Melbourne perceives, still hankers after Greece; but Crowns will not bear to be chopped and changed about in this manner. These new Kingdoms are not too firmly fixed as it is, and it will not do to add to the uncertainty by altercation…_

_1:30pm                                                                                                                                                         Brocket Hall_

_Lord Melbourne presents his humble duty to your Majesty. In answer to your question in your letter of this morning, it is difficult to trace precisely how the power of Prime Ministry grew up into its present form, as well as how it became attached, as it were, to the office of First Commissioner of the Treasury. But Lord Melbourne apprehends that Sir Robert Walpole was the first man in whose person this union of powers was decidedly established and that it’s being so arose from the very great confidence which both George I and George II reposed in him, and from the difficulty which they had in transacting business, particularly George I, from their imperfect knowledge of the language of the country._

_With respect to the Secretary of State, Lord Melbourne is not prepared from memory to state the dates at which the different arrangements of that office have taken place. There was originally but one officer, and at the present the three are but the heads of the different departments of one office. The first division was into two, and they were called the Secretary for the Northern and the Secretary for the Southern department. They drew a line across the world, and each transacted the business with the countries within his own portion of the globe. Another division then took place, and the Foreign affairs were confided to one Secretary of State, and the Home and Colonial affairs to the other; but the present arrangement was finally settled in the year 1793, when the junction was formed between Mr. Pitt on the one hand and those friends of Mr. Fox who left him because they differed with him upon the French Revolution. The persons then appointed were the Duke of Portland, Lord Grenville, and Mr. Dundas, Home, Foreign and Colonial Secretaries._

_Writing from recollection, it is very possible that Lord Melbourne might be wrong in some of the dates which he has ventured to specify._

 

_6:00pm                                                                                                                                                         Brocket Hall_

_Lord Melbourne presents his humble duty to your Majesty. He has this moment had the honor and pleasure of receiving your Majesty’s letter of 4pm._

_Lord Melbourne is gladdened to hear of the Heir Apparent’s swift recovery from the injury you describe. Lord Melbourne recalls the frequency with which small boys do tend to abrade their tender knees and makes haste to assure your Majesty that in such a course, it is best to refrain from an excess of emotion in the child’s presence. Lord Melbourne begs leave to reassure your Majesty of his continued concern for the well-being of the Heir Apparent and the Princess Royal._

_Lord Melbourne sends a letter which he has received from his sister, which may not be unentertaining. Lady Palmerston is struck, as everybody is who goes to Ireland, with the candid warmth and vehement demonstration of feeling. England will always appear cold, heartless and sulky in comparison._

_With respect to the question put to me by your Majesty, Lord Melbourne begs leave to assure your Majesty that he will be at all times most ready and anxious to give any information in his power upon points of this sort, which are very curious, very important, very worthy to be enquired into and upon which accurate information is not easily found. Lord Melbourne wishes to assure your Majesty that my tardy response was in no way due to a reluctance to provide the information sought, but only that Lord Melbourne was occupied first in his gardens and conservatory and then for a brief period only at table. Lord Melbourne will make sure his whereabouts are at all times known so that any courier can speedily find him with no repeat of today’s delay. Orders will be given to place writing materials at every location which your Majesty’s letters might find him to avoid any delay in responding._

_11:50pm                                                                                                                                                       Brocket Hall_

_Lord Melbourne presents his humble duty to your Majesty. I am writing this by the light of a single guttering candle so beg your indulgence of any misspellings. To answer the question put in your last letter of this date, all the political part of the English Constitution is fully understood and distinctly stated in Blackstone and many other books but the Ministerial part, the work of conducting executive government, has rested so much on practice, on usage, on understanding, that there is no publication to which reference can be made for the explanation and description of it. It is to be sought in debates, in protests, in letters, in memoirs and wherever it can be picked up. It seems to be stupid to you, to not be able to say at once when two Secretaries of State were established, but Lord Melbourne is not able. He apprehends that there was but one until the end of Queen Ann’s reign and that two were instituted by George I, probably because upon his frequent journeys to Hanover he wanted the Secretary of State with him and at the same time it was necessary that there should be an officer of the same authority left at home to transact the domestic affairs. Lord Melbourne will continue this dissertation on the morrow, as he is sure your Majesty will have retired for the night and his own eyes are failing for lack of sufficient light. Lord Melbourne wishes your Majesty peaceful repose and sends his fondest regards._

Victoria was sitting in her window seat, in a most undignified position, legs drawn up under the tent of her night gown. She was wide-awake and impatient but could see little in the moonlight to tell her when a rider in Queen’s livery was galloping toward the Palace. Victoria found she had great need of her husband’s – _Lord M’s,_ she corrected herself mentally – counsel. He knew so much about so many things that were essential to good governance, obscure dry facts filtered through his fresh perspective. How was she to learn those things without recourse to his good, sound judgment and breadth of knowledge?

Melbourne had gone to Brocket Hall at her express wish on the morning after their daughter’s birthday celebration. Her uncle had advised such a course – not, he hastened to add, for long enough to prompt speculation they were separated, but merely to give Victoria the time and space to recover her dignity. What he did not express, but Victoria understood, was his wish to humble Lord M. She recognized her uncle’s skill at manipulating her pride, her ready temper and voracious emotional need, but found it so comfortable to wrap herself in his outrage on her behalf.

Leopold understood all too well that Victoria felt she needed to be the central focus of everyone around her, and had long used that to his own advantage. From the vantage point of hard-won maturity Victoria saw that Leopold had always offered sympathy and support at the price of her devotion to him and had played a part in hardening her heart against even his own sister. She knew her uncle was ambitious, greedy and manipulative, but his love for her was genuine and had long been a constant in her life.

For days after Melbourne left, Victoria grimly focused on duty and routine, determined not to think of him. But some question or another, some issue arose which prompted the first letter to Brocket Hall. A fast rider could reach the hall in under two hours and his response came so quickly she knew William must have sat down to write as soon as he read her words. From there the dam broke. She carried his letters with her and re-read them so often so often the folds were already fraying. Poring over them, finding small hidden nuggets of intimacy, expressions of his dry wit that brought a smile to her face, or some pithy phrase that could have only come from _him_. And the flowers.

On the day after they began writing, Melbourne’s first letter of the morning arrived with a small twig of perfect blossoms.

Emma Portman was with her when it arrived. “A flowering almond, ma’am. However did William get them to bloom in September? These are spring blossoms.”

There was no note with the flower and Victoria set it aside on a saucer. Later that day, Emma Portman handed Victoria a small bound, printed book, _Flora’s Dictionary_.

_Almond, Flowering: Hope.  Hope! thou sad lover’s only friend…_


	2. Chapter 2

_Bramble, Flowering – Remorse_

William Lamb, 2nd Viscount Melbourne, leaned over the workbench in his glass conservatory. He was satisfied that his weaker left arm was steady before he held the tiny brush over a stamen he was attempting to pollinate. When he’d satisfactorily transferred the tiny grains of pollen Melbourne stood and stretched his protesting back muscles before turning his attention to the woody branch from which he intended to pluck a lone blossom.

It was a warm day for September, but still late in the year for forcing summer growth in the temperate climate of Hatfield Hertfordshire. The horticulturist he employed had thought him mad when he told him which cutting he wanted to fool into thinking it was June once more. They’d devised a strategy which resulted in only one success, the tiny, unassuming six-pedaled flower he now examined. It had to be perfect – for _her_ nothing less would do.

Melbourne remained in exile at his country home where he clung to his conservatory and the far less rewarding task of recording his memories. To him it had always seemed like a boring job and a damned boastful, pretentious exercise. Dredging up long-buried memories was not an activity fit for any man prone to melancholy, far less one separated from the wife he adored. But it was a project Victoria had long since begged him to consider. So many other men had gotten credit over the years for things he had done, and at the time he had cared not a whit. Victoria had finally hit on the key to persuading him, by reminding him he owed it to his descendants. _Descendants_ , for a man whose only son had lived and died a poor addled creature would have been the least likely prospect but now everything had changed.

He was no diarist like Greville, and lacked the extreme self-regard of so many other of his contemporaries, but Melbourne found the recovery of childhood memories a pleasant, if bittersweet, job. Emily gladly contributed her own recollections and Fred his, to lend veracity. He quite enjoyed imagining his son and daughter reading those tales some day. Capturing the vivid, fascinating larger-then-life Lady Elizabeth, for whom his daughter was named, was itself a worthy endeavor. Bringing back to life his elder brother Peniston and younger brother George, both of whom had predeceased him, had been absolutely enjoyable, allowing him to relive the adventure and camaraderie of growing up amongst siblings who genuinely loved each other.

His school days were well documented through the letters he’d written his mother describing his classes, pithy impressions of the instructors and surprisingly prescient character sketches of the boys he knew, hinting most accurately at the men they would become.

The prospect of tackling the events of his young manhood were not so appealing but Melbourne thought if he did not do so, someone else would and above all he could not reconcile himself to being forever defined by his wife’s infidelity.

Victoria’s letters came several times a day. The canter of hooves would alert his entire household that a royal messenger was arriving. Everyone from the youngest pot boy to his venerable butler knew that his Lordship would drop whatever he was doing to read and respond to those letters, and the uniformed riders who brought them were greeted and treated with a flattering degree of warmth and condescension.

Melbourne ached with missing her. Victoria had been the central light in his life for seven years, the sun around which his moon revolved – he did not fail to laugh at himself when that phrase suggested itself – and only a lifetime of battling an impulse toward depression kept him upright those first days. Now Melbourne could see more clearly and despite every instinct clamoring at him to go back uninvited he held himself in reserve, to await her summons.

It was not deference to her crown which made Melbourne resist the urge to exercise a husband’s prerogative. His Queen, Victoria Regina, was cool, composed and unreachable but his wife, his Alexandrina Victoria, was not. She was a passionate, hot-blooded creature who could not deny her love for him even as rage consumed her. Melbourne was sure that once in her presence, they would both be powerless to resist and he could have her in an instant, overcoming the protests of her stubborn mind with the reaction of her body and her heart. Even something as simple as an accidental look, a moment of shared humor at some bit of ridiculousness so abundant amongst courtiers, and their bond would flare back up into a blaze.

As much as he longed for her, what held Melbourne back was the memory of her words that last night.  “ _Do you know how easy it would be to turn to you and forget all of this in your arms? But I can’t or I will hate myself. You make me weak and I must be strong_.”

Victoria, his young monarch, Queen of the greatest nation on earth, had always looked at him with some touch of hero worship, and even at their most intimate she had a trace of shyness, a hint of deference. To Melbourne it was as absurd as it was flattering, that his very young, beautiful wife – his _Queen_ – would view herself as less than. But it was not the Queen who did so, he knew, it was the woman, the girl who still compared herself unfavorably to the women around her and, mostly, to those women in his own past. Surpassing even his desperate need for her, Melbourne wanted Victoria to welcome him back from a place of strength in herself, confidence that she would and could continue without him if she had to. It was a risky gamble, he knew, and one which everything in him protested. But for her, he would wait.

Melbourne did not sleep well alone, and he awoke with the same dull ache in his bones that he lay down with the night before. His pulse galloped in rhythm with each beat of the horse’s hoofs when a messenger rode hard to his door. Those flashes of exhilaration when he recognized her seal on a letter, the anticipation of her summoning him back to London, were all that kept him going. That, and the language of flowers.

Satisfied that the single, delicate flower they’d coaxed into life would survive the trip, Melbourne sat down to write to Victoria, taking up at the point he’d left off last night in attempting to answer Victoria’s question.

 

_08:30am                                                                                                                                                       Brocket Hall_

_Viscount Melbourne sends his humble duty to your Majesty. Lord Melbourne hopes earnestly that your Majesty had a peaceful rest and arises well and fit to greet the new day. Lord Melbourne does not sleep well and works late into the night on those poor histories of his early years that Your Majesty requested he write._

_To continue to answer your question of yesterday, Prime Minister is a term belonging to the last century. Lord Melbourne doubts its being found in English Parliamentary language previously. Sir Robert Walpole was always accused of having introduced and arrogated to himself an office previously known to the Law and Constitution, that of Prime or Sole Minister, and we learn from Lady Charlotte Lindsay’s accounts of her father that in his own family Lord North would never suffer himself to be called prime Minister, because it was an office unknown to the Constitution. This was a notion derived from the combined Whig and Tory opposition to Sir Robert Walpole, to which Lord North and his family had belonged._

_Lord Melbourne is very sorry to hear that the Princess Royal continues to suffer from some degree of indisposition. Lord Melbourne has felt much anxiety upon this subject and begs you to remember him fondly and with all affection to the Princess._

Melbourne folded and sealed his letter and gave it to the waiting messenger, along with a carefully packed single flower.

In fact, despite his own sister’s reassurance that infants often grow colicky and feverish while teething, which Elizabeth certainly was, Melbourne grew almost agitated when he thought of his baby girl left to only the ministrations of her nurses and governess. Victoria, while admirably concerned and exacting about the care of her children, was not a naturally hands-on mother, a fact Melbourne accepted without criticism. It was he who walked the floor on those nights when even the redoubtable Lehzen declared that there was nothing to be done but let Baby cry herself out, and his arms in which his tiny daughter found the security and comfort she needed to fall asleep. Sitting in the nursery, watching every breath she took, Melbourne had often thought there was no greater peace in the world than that which was found by holding one’s slumbering infant.

 

_01:00PM                                                                                                                                                      Brocket Hall_

_Lord Melbourne presents his humble duty to your Majesty. In response to your letter of 10:00AM this date, Lord Melbourne does not feel entirely satisfied of the correctness of the information which he gave to your Majesty respecting the office of Secretary of State, he requested Mr. Young to look into the matter and has just received the enclosed short memorandum, which he has the honor of transmitting to Your Majesty. This shows that Lord Melbourne was quite wrong with respect to the period at which two Secretaries of State were first employed and that it was much earlier than he had imagined._

_The year 1782, when the third Secretary of State was abolished, was the period of the great measure of Economical Reform which had been introduced by Mr. Burke in 1780._

_The present arrangement was settled in 1794, which is about the time which Lord Melbourne stated._

* * *

 Victoria eagerly received Lord M’s reply to her letter. She already had her next one written out and handed it to the waiting page, holding his silver salver in white-gloved hands. The boy’s face was admirably stoic, showing no hint of the general merriment which awaited him in the hall when he recounted the third letter heading for Brocket Hall that day.

She read his words quickly, intending to go back and study them at greater length, but first she wanted to see which flower he sent. The delicate, almost papery blossom was small; it fit well within the palm of her hand, the size of a coin, no more. She turned the pages of her book to find it.

Lady Portman arose from her chair beside the Duchess of Kent and strolled over. “Why, that’s a bramble flower, ma’am. Not a cultivated bloom at all. More of a…weed.”

“A weed, Emma? Why would Lord M send me a _weed_?” Victoria’s eyes had opened wide, and Emma Portman recognized the tremble of uncertainty in her mistress’s voice.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have said weed precisely, ma’am. But they too blossom usually in June. Then later the bushes fill with berries which children gather in buckets. Look it up. What does it say?”

Victoria found the name in the book’s alphabetical index and read it to herself, unwilling to share the message. _Flowering Bramble – Remorse_

Victoria received Sir Robert Peel and quickly reviewed the week’s business with him. Far from the many-times-daily audiences with Lord Melbourne as Prime Minister, Victoria saw Sir Robert once weekly, a frequency which Peel himself heartily agreed was sufficient. Victoria prepared for these interviews by making notes in her careful hand of matters she wished to discuss. Rarely did she have anything momentous to offer – any real questions which required clarification were directed to Lord M – but she determined the best way to placate her chief minister was to appeal to his oratory sense. Thus she asked him about the legal briefs which had been delivered earlier, O'Connell v. the Queen. Victoria already surmised that Mr. O’Connell was a bad man, although Melbourne would have flinched at such an arbitrary one-dimensional summary. Still it gave Peel an opportunity to pontificate at length, which in turn gave Victoria the opportunity to lose herself in reverie, remembering with a pang how different these meetings were when it was she and Lord M, the near-giddy delight she took in his company and the heart-pounding, very pleasurable excitement she felt when she anticipated his arrival.

Peel’s voice, always loud, penetrated her fog and Victoria blinked, returning his stare.

“Metternich, ma’am. I asked if you had formed an opinion on Metternich’s dealings with the French.”

“Sir Robert, I need additional time to consider the matter,” Victoria responded civilly, with a chilly smile that caused the politician to falter.

“That will be all. You have our permission to withdraw.” Peel bowed himself out and Victoria bit her lip, disapproving of her own distractedness and impatience. This would never do, she chastised herself. Lord M would be disappointed in me.

She tried several times to start a letter to him. Words failed her, and concepts refused to present themselves as a pretense for yet another communication. Victoria balled up another sheet of paper.

5:20pm                                                                                                                         Buckingham House, London

_Lord Melbourne, we send our most fond regards. Thank you for your expanded explanation of the matter of our Secretaries of State. Your correction was most informative and added to the degree of confidence we feel in your ability to provide us with the correct facts._

_Sir Robert Peel has just left us with a most confusing legal decision written in Our Name. We require the benefit of your knowledge on the subject of Mr. O’Connell, recently of Dublin, and the conspiracy charges brought against him._

_I note your views on Metternich, which align with Sir Robert’s yet contradict most sharply with those of John Russell and Lord Palmerston. Our inclination as always is to rely upon your sound judgment, especially when it concurs with that of our Prime Minister, which office you filled so admirably for so long in our Government._

_I was sorry to read that Lord Melbourne does not sleep well. I do not sleep well either. The early mornings now are quite chilly, and as I watch the sun rise I see a thick coating of dew on the lawns. Is it so at Brocket Hall too? Are you ever awake at sunrise? I often wonder as I look at the night sky through my telescope, whether you see the same stars and are watching them at the same time as I. Is it so?_

Victoria read over what she had written and allowed a frustrated groan to escape her. Why must she sound so…so silly? Surely that woman, an _author_ , had written him much better letters, Victoria thought. And his wife – Caro too was a writer, and a poet. After such accomplished women why would he not laugh to scorn the silly scribblings of a poorly educated _girl?_ What she wanted to scrawl in big bold black letters was **_COME HOME_** _._

What she wrote instead was _Please respond by return courier with the information we request on Mr. O’Connell’s conspiracy trial_.

Then, before she could change her mind, Victoria thumbed through her book and added one more line: _If we had such variety of flowers as you grow at Brocket Hall, we would send you Helenium._


	3. Chapter 3

  

 White Clover: Think of Me

 Lord Melbourne walked around his greenhouses, up and down the cross-hatched paths of the soaring glass conservatory. He’d abandoned his city wardrobe since no one who mattered dare visit – that the Queen’s husband had returned to his country estate in a foul mood was common knowledge in the neighborhood. Servants talk. Instead he pulled on the same battered canvas gamekeeper’s trousers day after day, finding their many pockets useful. Only his shirt was clean every morning – his valet would have instantly resigned, fearing for his own professional reputation, should that nicety be abandoned – but the billowing white fabric would be watermarked and soil stained in short order.

With his long, slender, very knowledgeable fingers Melbourne examined petals for any hint of drying on the edges, stems for vigor and leaves for their health. His mind ran between the available options for what he wanted to say next. _Clover: Be Mine._ _Was it too soon for a simple four-leaf clover? Yes,_ he thought. This was courtship, exquisitely slow, one step leading to another. He’d chuckled over some of the plants in his well-thumbed book, the twin of which now rested in Victoria’s hands. _American Cudweed: Unceasing remembrance._ While the sentiment was apt, where in the devil was one to get American Cudweed in Hertfordshire? _Coreopsis Arkansa_ was appropriate enough _, “Love at First sight”,_ but too easily mistaken for simple _Coreopsis, Always Cheerful._ Definitely not a confusion he wanted to risk. _Camellia Japonica, Red –_ and he had a fine specimen, newly budded – said _“My destiny is in your hands”_ but he thought he wanted something lighter, less challenging. His mind suddenly made up, Melbourne strode briskly out of the greenhouse and walked across his fine lawns to the point at which they dropped away into pasture. After several minutes hunting, bent at the waist, he found exactly what he was looking for and tenderly wrapped the stems in his handkerchief. _Clover, White: Think of me._

_09:30AM                                                                                              Brocket Hall_

_Your Majesty asks whether Lord Melbourne thinks that Prince Metternich holds the opinion which he expressed to Lord Beauvale. It is difficult to say what Prince Metternich’s real sentiments are. Lord Melbourne takes him not to have a very high opinion of the abilities of others in general, and he is not unlikely to depreciate Sir Robert Gordon to Lord Beauvale. Sir Robert Gordon is a man of integrity, but he is tiresome, long and pompous, which cannot be agreeable to the Prince, who has much about him of the French vivacity, and also much of their settled and regular style of argument._

_With respect to the latter part of your Majesty’s letter, Lord Melbourne returns the expression of Your Majesty’s kindness with his warm and grateful thanks. Your Majesty may rest assured that he will always speak to Your Majesty without scruple or reserve, and that he will never ask anything of your Majesty or ever make a suggestion which he does not consider to be for your Majesty’s service and advantage. Lord Melbourne is of the opinion that his absence from the Palace should not only avoid exciting suspicion and unease in your Majesty’s present advisers, but should not be of so long a duration as to incite rumor abroad and with the public, of which he would be concerned only for the sake of Your Majesty’s comfort and dignity._

_In this matter Lord Melbourne does not at present discern his way, and he will not therefore hazard opinions which would not be founded upon any certainty, and might be liable to immediate change and alteration. In this as in all matters Lord Melbourne stands ready to pursue whatever course of action your Majesty –_

Trembling with impotent rage, Melbourne snapped his pen in half and threw it across the room, cursing. _What twaddle!_  It was still morning but his hand shook as he poured from the bottle of brandy whose comfort he had steadfastly avoided the past fortnight. _This is your wife, man! Surrounded by self-seekers who rise in their own estimation according to how well they can sustain her injured feelings and feed the embers of her wounded pride. But for all that she reads and writes her own letters, by her own hand, so say what you mean, dammit!_ Melbourne knew with certainty that she did indeed write to him alone and unaided. She began including first a named flower and then a small watercolor sketch obviously copied from her lingua flora dictionary. Helenium _– Tears_ , had been the first, followed in successive days by a painstakingly drawn flowering hydrangea – _You are cold, a boaster, heartless_ – a grim black Mulberry tree – _I shall not survive you_ – and a humble, and helpfully captioned, Abatina – _Fickleness._ Melbourne was pleased that she had entered into the game with such zest, and touched by her lack of subtlety. He carefully set aside each small card with its watercolor image, after first holding it to his lips and inhaling the fragrance of her specially blended French perfume.

Without starting over, Melbourne struck out the last despised paragraph and began writing beneath it.

_Lord Melbourne is most eager to return to the Palace and Your Majesty ~~’s~~ ~~service~~. Lord Melbourne does not challenge those advisers who surround you on the grounds of their devotion to your cause, but fears that they can not apprehend matters of which they know nothing. Lord Melbourne can not at a distance begin to mend the trust which was torn. He does not seek to pressure Your Majesty into any precipitate decision, only begs leave to remind you that prolonged separation will give credence to the rumors you are most desirous to crush. Together we can demonstrate our public unity even as I work privately to rebuild that which was damaged between us._

_Yours forever, with all my love,_ _M_

He handed his letter to the waiting courier, along with a small box which held a newspaper-wrapped damp bundle. _White Clover: Think of Me_

Her response came within a few hours. There was no letter in her hand, only a small creamy note-card bearing a watercolor drawing of a wild daisy. _I will think of it._ He puzzled over it – at what level should he take her meaning? That she would need to think whether she wanted him to return, or when? Before he gave in to rising despair Melbourne considered alternatives. His darling girl was the most honest person he’d ever known, using haughtiness as a substitute for guile. She could not dissemble. Had she perhaps confused the wild daisy for the common garden daisy, _I share your sentiments?_ Or did she mean that she would think of the bond they shared?

He was forced to throw off his meditations when the butler announced a visitor.

“The Duchess of Kent, my lord.”

Melbourne rose swiftly, brushing his hands together before stepping forward to bow over the gloved hand she extended. When he drew nearer he saw the small figure standing slightly behind, hidden by her skirts.

“Papa!” Prince William threw himself into Melbourne’s arms with the innocent certainty he would be caught, and Melbourne lifted him up and pressed kisses on his son.

Victoire, Dowager Duchess of Kent and Queen Mother, stood silently, watching the reunion of father and son. Melbourne suddenly remembered himself.

“Your Highness, I apologize. Please, be seated….” Holding his son on one hip Melbourne hurriedly shoved stacks of the London papers from a chair.

“Baines, please order refreshments for the Duchess and my – the prince. Ma’am, please excuse my disarray. I was not expecting visitors. I am not at home to callers.”

“Excepting me, of course?” The Duchess said with an arch smile. “I do not think they would keep me out.” Victoire carried herself with a great sense of her own importance, her chilly hauteur at odds with the coy flirtatiousness she displayed to all men.

“No, ma’am, no, of course not. Especially since you bring Prince William to see me.”

“I thought that might be the case. He was my calling card, so to speak.”

While servants busied themselves setting out tea things and biscuits and assessing the Duchess’s appetite for a more substantial luncheon Melbourne sank into a chair with his son in his lap. He listened with rapt attention to the boy’s insistent chatter, the flow of words intending to convey everything that had struck the perception of a small boy in the fortnight since he’d last seen his father. Melbourne bore the expression of a man clearly enchanted with every syllable the boy uttered. The Duchess lifted her tea cup and watched, a small satisfied smile curving her lips.

Finally Melbourne remembered his duty to his other guest. “Liam, we are neglecting your lady grandmother. Your Highness, it is a very great pleasure to welcome you to Brocket Hall.”

“My grandson tells me that he has a pony stabled here which he is quite anxious to see. Do you think one of your people could take him down so he can visit this animal?”

Melbourne understood that of course the Duchess had her own agenda and had not acted from simple altruism in bringing the boy to see him, presumably contravening her own brother’s orders that Melbourne have no contact with the royal children.

“Of course. Liam, would you like to go see your pony? I think Baines might be persuaded to walk as far as the stable with you, even though he does not generally venture anywhere unpaved.”  The child resisted briefly, unwilling to relinquish his father’s arms, plaintively demanding that Melbourne accompany them. He was finally persuaded by the intervention of Mrs. Baines, holding a bowl of white sugar and apple slices with which to tempt the pony’s appetite.

“You are a very good father, Lord Melbourne. In the few short months of her life before we lost my husband, he was a good father also. He would walk about the palace carrying Drina in his arms and showing her off to everyone. He was so delighted with her he never once reproached me for not giving him a son.”

Melbourne thanked her and resisted the urge to pick up his half full glass, rather sliding it out of sight.

“So…you are wondering why I am here?” Victoire set down her teacup with great precision on the side table and looked at him levelly.

“I am, ma’am. You are very welcome of course and for a chance to see Liam, you have my deepest gratitude, but I confess to wondering why.”

“I love my daughter, Lord Melbourne. I have always loved my daughter. I have made mistakes, it is true, and perhaps I permitted Sir John to exercise more authority over Drina than I should. But she never lacked for love from me. If anything, I smothered her with more attention, more care, than any ordinary girl.” The Duchess sighed. "I have always loved my daughter, only never as much as she wanted or needed."

Melbourne inclined his head slightly, acknowledging only that he heard her.

“The estrangement you saw between us from the day Drina ascended the throne, the manner in which she sent Sir John away from me, her coldness– it broke my heart. I even accepted the loss of Sir John’s companionship. Perhaps I allowed my pain to show too openly but I did not dispute her right to banish him if she chose.”

Victoire dabbed at the corner of her eyes with a small folded handkerchief and looked about her at the walls of Melbourne’s library. “Which one is your mother, Lord Melbourne? The celebrated Lady Elizabeth, for whom our granddaughter is named?” Melbourne’s brow twitched, his only sign of surprise that the Duchess knew. Publicly of course, they had given tribute to the great Virgin Queen in naming the princess.

Melbourne showed her the portrait of his mother at her best, still vibrant and startlingly beautiful even in mid-life.

“And where is your late wife, Lord Melbourne?”

Melbourne explained tightly that Caroline’s portrait no longer hung in the Hall, but had been put away with the intention of giving it to her family.

“Because Drina did not like being reminded of her predecessor even on the wall?” Victoire asked knowingly.

Melbourne did not answer directly. He would not give voice to anything that this woman could distort. “The Bessboroughs will be most appreciative for the return of the Lawrence portrait. It is considered one of his best works.”

“Tell me about her, Lord Melbourne. I have only heard the stories, but I never knew her of course. Was she a bad woman, a fast woman, promiscuous?” The Duchess’s head was tilted, her eyes fixed on him. Melbourne struggled to push down a surge of defensive anger.

“Others, those who did not know her well, might say so. I do not. She was a very passionate, headstrong creature.”

“Like Drina perhaps?” Melbourne flushed at the meaning he took from her words. She shook her head a little. “I mean passionate in the way she feels everything so intensely and requires so much from those she loves.” Melbourne thought about what she said, and applied it to both his late wife and his present wife. Grudgingly, he conceded that much.

“In that way you might say they were alike, yes.”

“Tell me, Lord Melbourne, why did you let it go so far with the poet? Discreet affairs I understand but why did you let her behave as she did and bring humiliation to both of you?”

Melbourne threw up his hands. “Ma’am, with all respect, you did not know Caroline. I could no more stop her when she was determined on a course of action than I could –“ he stopped himself just in time, but it did no good. The Duchess nodded in satisfaction, as though having a suspicion confirmed.

“Than you could stop my daughter? Is that why you rusticate here in the country while she indulges her _feelings_? Feelings of anger and hurt and mostly, I think, embarrassment and wounded pride that are fed daily by my brother?”

Melbourne shrugged and turned away. “Ma’am, she is the Queen. I have no choice.”

Victoire laughed gaily, seeming to find humor in his assertion.

“Lord Melbourne, of course you have a choice.  I think maybe you waited then too – perhaps right here, in this very library – for your late wife to come to her senses and give up her pursuit of the poet? To realize her own error and return to you?”

“Your Highness, my wife was a tempestuous creature. She expected the same of me. I am not interested in high drama, in throwing a woman over my saddle and riding off with her. I want her to come to me as a woman, not a needy child.”

Melbourne suddenly realized in the midst of his discomfort that Victoire had once been a great beauty and was still a very handsome woman, at least a decade younger than him. He wondered, _was she was flirting with him?_ Deeply unsettled at the personal nature of this conversation he took several steps back and walked around his desk once more. Not to be deterred, the Duchess followed and faced him across the glossy wood surface.

“Then why, Lord Melbourne, do you keep marrying such _needy children_? I think I have heard that for lovers you take bold, accomplished, independent women…yet when you give your heart and your name you give it to wild, tempestuous girls?”

Melbourne allowed her words to ring in the silence which followed. _Why indeed?_ He thought. Because the heart wants what it wants, was the answer. She was correct of course that his long string of mistresses were anything but needy. Volatile perhaps, but shrewd calculating creatures who were not vulnerable, not emotionally dependent, strong capable women much like his mother. Yet his true loves, Caro and Victoria, were just the opposite, fey untamed girls who wore their hearts on their sleeves and were incapable of even necessary social deceit. When they loved, they loved with their whole hearts, unreservedly.

“And I wonder why these girls, these tempestuous hot-blooded females, chose _you_ , Lord Melbourne? A steady man, even-tempered, disliking what you call _drama_? Perhaps because those qualities in you make them feel safe? I used to think my daughter saw in you the father she never knew but I believe her feelings for you to be much _warmer_ than that. Do you think that your own steadiness makes her feel safe? Do you think it is finding the opposite of your own nature that draws you?”

He shrugged once more. “You provide me food for thought, ma’am. Was that your purpose in coming here today? Other than to bring my son to see me, for which I have expressed my gratitude?”

The Duchess made an impatient sound.

“No, Lord Melbourne, not at all. What I came to tell you, since like most men you are a fool who learns nothing from experience, is that it is time for my brother to return to Belgium and time for you to return to your wife. Since you have not learned this already, I will warn you that waiting for a woman to become what she is not is a fool’s choice, or a coward's. She will only go her length and wait for you to bring her back. Or she will harden her heart against you and convince herself she is right to do so. You are not excused your _stupid_ lack of good judgment in writing to that woman but you can not make it up from here. Court Drina, win her back, let her know of your devotion. Come home and claim your wife, Lord Melbourne.”

After he had seen the Duchess into her carriage and watched until they were out of sight Melbourne turned back to his greenhouse. He passed by all the exotics and walked to the large ornamentals. Then he returned to the library once more to finish his overdue letter to Victoria. Scanning the lines he added one more.

_Lord Melbourne begs the honor of informing Your Majesty that he will call upon her at 4PM tomorrow. If Your Majesty’s schedule does not permit an audience at that time Lord Melbourne will wait until such o'clock as Your Majesty is free to receive her husband. – Lord M_

He laid the single flower inside a small hinged jewel box.

_Red Chrysanthemum – I love_


	4. Chapter 4

_Daphne Odora – Desire to please_

As the great ormolu clock in the Queen’s drawing room struck 4:00 Her Majesty rose from the settee where she had been engaged in a semblance of conversation with the household ladies. Several of those who knew her best had perceived a distracted air and even some hidden agitation and the one who knew her best, Lady Emma Portman, had filled the gap as best she could. Charlotte Canning, one of the more sympathetic, likewise attempted to distract those who might be more prone to gossip and speculation.

Victoria smoothed her skirts as she walked, discretely wiping the moisture from her palms. She bit her lips to bring some color into them and wished she could resort to the pot of rouge on her dressing table. She had dressed carefully in a new gown, changeable blue green taffeta that clung to her shape and defined her narrow waist.

Leopold was already waiting in her private office. Sir Robert Peel would arrive in exactly one-half hour and Victoria knew Uncle fully expected to stay for that audience too. Well, she would see about that, Victoria thought.

She intended to be standing behind her broad desk, ready to coolly greet her husband if he arrived as he said he would, but instead faltered when she heard footsteps directly behind her. A page threw open the door and announced him: “Viscount Melbourne, Your Majesty.”

Victoria turned so abruptly her skirts swirled about and rather than a composed, remote demeanor she showed him a doe-eyed, startled expression, looking as though she might dart out of the room.

Melbourne dipped into the most formal of genuflections, and Victoria reflexively extended her hand. When his lips just grazed her skin she shivered and felt her skin prickle. Glancing down, Victoria wanted nothing more than to caress that dark curly hair.

“Your Majesty,” he said and when Victoria heard his distinctively raspy voice she thought she might be lost to any semblance of dignity. She felt herself nearly overcome by the need to have his arms around her, to press her cheek against his chest and experience that indescribable sense of _home_  again. Instead she took a seat behind her desk.

Victoria expected Leopold’s presence to be off-putting, help stiffen her spine and properly intimidate her wayward husband. Instead Melbourne smiled – almost a smirk really, most insulting – at the King of the Belgians and gave him the slightest of nods.

“I believe Your Majesty had further questions on the O’Connell trial?” Melbourne said smoothly, pulling back one of the two chairs positioned in front of her desk. “If I may?” Victoria hesitated only briefly before she nodded, caught.

“If the King of _Belgium_ takes an interest in decisions at English law, he might find our discussion enlightening. If not, perhaps he would prefer to join the ladies in Your Majesty’s drawing room. I’m sure they would be willing to bear him company.”

“I will stay as long as my niece requires my presence, Lord Melbourne,” Leopold said with formal correctness.

“Well, in that case, I am certain Her Majesty will give you permission to withdraw for I have not known her to _need_ any advisers. I merely supply information as requested.”

When the Queen’s eyes met his green ones she was caught. Almost unwillingly Victoria turned her head toward her uncle.

“Uncle Leopold, you may leave us.” He made his disapproval plain, looking, Melbourne  thought, like a heron on long skinny legs, and stalked out.

“So…O’Connell. Perhaps Your Majesty would care to ask the questions she needs answered?”

Victoria expressed her annoyance with a small sound that won the hint of a smile from Melbourne.

“He – he is a bad man? We should not have sympathy for his recent ordeal?”

“Why? Because he is a bad man? Do you dislike all bad men, Your Majesty? Because there are so many of them, far more than the other kind.” His words brought forth a near-grin from Victoria, one she quickly suppressed.

“Are you – are you returning to Court, Lord M? Or are you here only to address my questions on the Irish bad man?”

“I am here and I intend to stay. With Your Majesty’s permission, of course, and in whatever capacity I am allowed.”

Victoria’s gaze flickered toward him and away again, as if, he thought, she found it difficult to look at him.

“Is it this coat?”

“I’m sorry, I - -“ She fumbled, confused by the non sequitur.

“Do you find this coat especially difficult to look at? I confess I had my doubts but my tailor insisted it is quite _au courant_. Perhaps the shoulders require padding? I could ask your uncle for his tailor – his coats seem excessively well padded to compensate for – well – Or the color perhaps? This dark blue might not be suitable for the season.”

Victoria’s expression clearly indicated a struggle between amusement and annoyance. 

“Do you find this situation _funny_ , Lord Melbourne? I find it excessively awkward.”

“You might well. I, on the other hand, tend to find humor in most awkward situations. Take us, for example. I am here on sufferance, granted an audience with the Queen, when what I want is to see my wife. My Victoria.” His voice softened to a near-whisper when he said her name.

“I did not say I was ready to – to resume our prior relationship. I did not summon you.”

“Yet here I am. So how do we proceed? If I may suggest a course of action…” Melbourne rose, hands clasped behind his back, gripping one wrist with his other hand because he wanted so badly to reach out and touch her.

“You and I want the same thing, I think – to avoid scandal and the whispers of those determined to find trouble in others to distract them from their own. The only way we can address those rumors is to show them they are false. People are generally simple, and they are unable to keep two conflicting thoughts in their minds. Either the Queen’s marriage is troubled, or it is not. If they hear one thing but see the other, which do they accept as truth?”

Victoria stood likewise. “And that is only your concern, Lord Melbourne? The _appearance_ of our marriage?”

Melbourne shook his head. “No, ma’am. That is my concern for you, for your comfort and dignity. The rest I think will resolve itself. Because we love each other we will find our way back to each other. Am I wrong?”

“You presume, Lord Melbourne,” Victoria said stiffly.

“Do I?” His tone was gently speculative. “I hope not. Nonetheless. I am here and I intend to remain. At your side. Leading you in to dinner. Answering all the questions you have on the history of the Ministry without riding half the cavalry into the ground. Spending time with our children.”

Melbourne recognized the squaring of her shoulders, the way in which she drew herself up to her full height, the stiffening of that elegant jawline. He moved forward swiftly, before she could protest, and picked up one hand in both of his.

“Do you wish me to go away, Victoria?”

She looked away, refusing to meet his eyes. When she answered her voice was so small he strained to hear it. “No.”

Melbourne remained beside her, looking out the window onto the broad winding approach to the palace. When Victoria sniffed and wiped at her face Melbourne took out a handkerchief to dab at her tears. For a moment she laid a soft hand over his.

“I – Sir Robert is due to arrive any moment. I – am not ready to – I would like you to stay.”

Melbourne kissed her palm before gently releasing it. “Shall I leave you to Peel? I want to speak to your uncle before he leaves.”

“Is Uncle Leopold leaving?” Victoria asked, surprised. “He did not tell me.”

“Yes, I believe he is. I’m sure it slipped his mind. His whole attention has been on other matters. It is high time the people of Belgium had their King back.”

They both turned when the doors to Victoria’s office opened. A page stepped in and announced the Prime Minister.

* * *

Melbourne strolled into the Queen’s drawing room and leisurely greeted each of the ladies present, kissing hands and cheeks. He was greeted warmly by all, and accepted a brief embrace from Emma Portman, who looked at him searchingly. Leopold had not risen to greet him, merely watching with a cool, assessing gaze.

“Your Highness, if we might excuse ourselves to the ladies I believe we have overdue business to discuss.”

Without looking back Melbourne walked out and down the main corridor to the private wing – the wing where only he, the Queen and the nurseries were located.

“I hardly think we should enter the Queen’s apartment without her present, Lord Melbourne,” Leopold announced, slowing.

“We’re not. We’re going to _my_ apartment. Surely you didn’t think I reside in a _guest_ wing? This palace is my _home_.”

Melbourne held open the door and gestured for the other man to enter.

“Well, Lord Melbourne, what do we have to discuss? You have decided to resume the appearance of solidarity with Her Majesty, I see. That is a wise course. As long as you are discrete and avoid all scandal everything should proceed smoothly. You will be at her side during all public appearances, and be seen at Court regularly and your role as her husband should be –“

“Shut up!” Melbourne snapped without raising his voice.

“Lord Melbourne, I warn you that if you don’t conduct yourself properly you stand to lose a substantial-“

“Yes. Let’s discuss the matter of marriage allowances.”

“Ah, I see. You want to negotiate for more in return for your cooperation? I think you know that is a matter for your own government to decide. Even if my niece were to contribute a sum from her own funds –“

“You misunderstand me, Your Highness. I think it is time our government re-examine the subject of remuneration in general. I believe you have been drawing £50,000 a year for the last…what? 25 years since Princess Charlotte’s death?”

“You dare to threaten _me_ with the subject of money? Who do you think –“

“I think I am the husband of the Queen of England. I also think I am former First Lord of the Treasury in a good position to know the condition of the public purse.”

“You would withdraw my allowance? Which would then go to you?” Leopold sneered. “Your greed is obscene, Lord Melbourne, and I doubt my niece would find it an attractive trait to discover in her husband. She has already had so much unsettling news about your character.”

“Not at all, Your Highness. I would propose we _both_ surrender our Crown incomes. I don’t need mine, nor do I want it, and you have the revenue of an entire country at your disposal.”

King Leopold spun on his heel and began pacing the room, torn between storming out and regaining control of the situation.

“How dare you! You ally yourself with a whore who publicly gossips about my niece and her household. You drive my niece to embroil herself in scandal, by your conduct drive my good Alexandrina into the arms of a – an itinerant _soldier_ like a camp following harlot –“

“What?” Melbourne roared, loudly enough that the King flinched visibly. “What did you say about my wife?”

“Come, Lord Melbourne, I have my sources of information even here. You found them _in flagrante delicto_ , the Queen of England in bed with her lover –“ Leopold involuntarily took a step back from the white-hot rage he saw.

“My wife did _nothing_. Your _sources_ are wrong if they say otherwise.”

“You are so sure of that, Lord Melbourne? Did you not discover them?”

“My wife was upset and went in search of Albert’s former apartments. A gentleman found her – a _gentleman_ , sir, which is a concept entirely unfamiliar to you – and summoned me to assist her. That is all.”

“How entirely admirable of you to uphold her reputation, Lord Melbourne. Victoria is fortunate to have an understanding husband. But that is a role you are well versed in, is it not?”

Melbourne had never hit another in anger since childhood, but he knew he was perilously close to doing so. “My wife lost neither her reputation nor her dignity, sir.”

“Victoria feels otherwise, Lord Melbourne. She is quite aware of her shameful behavior of that night. I offered my assistance and arranged for the _person_ you call a gentleman to be sent away to avoid the sort of gossip we hope to avoid.”

“’Sent away’? What does that mean?”

“The man – Lord Cameron, I believe? – was convinced it would be in his best interests and the Queen’s, even yours, to accept a commission to rejoin his old unit and accompany an envoy of Lord Ellenborough’s to India.”

“That is unfortunate, sir. He was innocent and behaved as a perfect gentleman. You didn’t think that sending him away would fuel the very sort of rumors you claim to have wanted to avoid?”

“I thought you would be more appreciative. Perhaps you are concerned that the next man she turns to will not be such a _gentleman_? Unhappy wives can be so vulnerable.” Leopold saw the darkening in Melbourne’s eyes and made his satisfaction evident. His voice grew silky and his smile was almost charming when a blow from the back of Melbourne’s hand landed across his cheek.

“Get out. Take your aide Stockmar and get the hell out of our country. I’m sure your own wife must feel quite _vulnerable_ being unattended so long. My wife is no longer your concern.” 

* * *

 Melbourne refused to dwell on the likely consequences of his confrontation with the King of a sovereign nation, an ally of Great Britain. He reckoned he had at least another half hour before rejoining Victoria after her audience with Peel and made his way out of the palace proper to a portion of the vast surrounding estate he had not yet explored.

The greenhouses were set at a distance, nearly to the Great Park. Those few workers still present at day’s end jumped to their feet in surprise at the sight of a lord venturing into their territory. Melbourne knew none likely recognized him and rather than introduce himself as the Queen’s husband, merely murmured his name and what business he had with them.

After some searching they found the plant Melbourne sought, part of a new growth planned for indoor display during the coming winter months. One in particular was in early bloom. Although Melbourne offered to do the work himself, an elderly gardener deftly separated a section, found a small ceramic container and repotted it in a size just right to sit on a corner of the Queen’s desk. He seemed almost giddy with delight that the fruits of his labor would be under Her Majesty’s eye as she worked. Fastidiously he tamped down the soil and polished the china-blue glaze on the small pot. Melbourne pressed a coin in the man’s hand and thanked him.

Returning to the palace Melbourne paused outside of her office door, listening for voices. How long would it take Leopold to run to her and demand she banish him once and for all? Divorce him even? _Have I ruined everything?_

Hearing nothing, Melbourne stepped inside. The office was empty, and he carefully set down his offering on the corner of her desk. Then he went to join the Queen and escort her in to dinner, if she would have him.

_Daphne Odora – Desire to please_

 


	5. Chapter 5

_Filbert: Reconcilation_

Lord Melbourne stood in the window of his bedroom staring out at the London skyline, illuminated by a full moon. The great city – the greatest in the world, he had no doubt, center of finance and industry – stretched from one end of the horizon to the other, a seemingly-endless panoply of rooftops.

After the altercation with King Leopold, Melbourne had dressed for dinner and rejoined the Queen. Peel had been invited to dine after his audience, and Melbourne had exchanged civilities with the Prime Minister. From being jealous of his prerogative and deeply suspicious of his predecessor’s potential to counter his own influence with the sovereign, Peel had begun turning first to Melbourne, having never completely overcome his essential discomfort in Victoria’s presence. Melbourne found it more than a little ironic that he spend most of his time declining to exert any influence or offer opinions to either of them. All he was willing to do was temper their discomfort with each other and bridge their divide.

When dinner was announced he made his way to Victoria’s side with far more assurance than he felt, but his blood was still just hot enough from that previous encounter, Melbourne found himself caring less than he ought about any potential rebuff. And indeed, Victoria laid her hand on his arm quite naturally, walking in beside him and displaying every evidence of comfort in his presence during the interminable meal. Leopold did not appear, nor was a place set for him or Stockmar or any of his retinue. Victoria said nothing until halfway through the second course and then she only told him that he had been correct and the party was returning to Belgium, more precipitously than she had expected. Melbourne thought she did not seem upset by the news, but he still waited for the other shoe to drop.

Although a mere Viscount, the order of Precedence within the Household had been set by Victoria shortly after their marriage was made known, and Melbourne was both host and senior family member present. For all intents and purposes, within the Household and the Royal family, the Queen’s husband _was_ royalty, superseded only by her Uncle Sussex, Prince of the Blood, and Prince William, the Heir. That too had rankled with Leopold, Melbourne suspected.

Dinner finally ended and Victoria led the ladies into the drawing room while Melbourne and the gentlemen lingered over their port. Smoking was a filthy habit he detested as much as the Queen did and any who wished to smoke cigars must adjourn to a distant room in the South tower, so at least he was spared both the olfactory annoyance and the additional time segregated. He wanted to be at her side.

The evening finally ended when the Queen Mother, rather than Victoria, announced she wished to retire. Victoria looked somewhat startled at the Duchess usurping her own role in dismissing those gathered, but she went along willingly enough. Melbourne rose, bowing to the Duchess, and was favored by a peck on the cheek from his diminutive mother-in-law. “Lord Melbourne,” she said clearly. “It is so good you have returned from the country in time to see my brother off. I will wish you good night now. Drina –“ She kissed her daughter and pointedly looked at the others present as she swept out.

Melbourne wondered how the evening would end, as he walked down the long approach to their apartments at Victoria’s side. When they reached her door she hesitated, not speaking. Then, finally, she said, “Good night, William,” and slipped through the door, closing it gently behind her.

Now he stood in the dark, listening to the sounds which made their way through a solid oak door, small homely noises, the low murmur of feminine voices as Victoria’s maid readied her for bed. He knew all those small rituals so well he could imagine what stage they were at, putting away her jewels, pouring hot water, unpinning and brushing her long hair, unlacing her stays and holding the gown she would slip into before removing her undergarments. When finally the door latch clicked and he heard footfalls fading into the distance, down the long servant’s passage which ran behind their apartments, Melbourne surmised she was alone.

He hesitated outside the door which separated  them, feeling like a damn fool, unwilling to either retreat or advance. He told himself he wanted to honor her privacy, and was answered by a voice in his head-  _did it sound like Caro? or Emily?_ – suggesting that he wanted to avoid the pain of rejection. Before he could change his mind once more, Melbourne turned the knob.

Victoria sat in her window seat, looking out at the same cityscape he had recently viewed. She did not turn when he entered, but some small shift in the set of her shoulders told him she knew he was there. He approached her slowly, determined now he would not retreat.

“I like seeing the city asleep,” she said quietly. Melbourne sat down beside her, not touching but so closely that the ends of her long hair brushed his hand. _How easy it would be to reach out and –_

“I think of all those people, living their lives, imagining _us_ and how perfect our lives must be. Ordinary people do think that. Their everyday concerns convince them that to be up here –“ she gestured around her, at the castle and all it contained. “ – would solve all their problems. But that isn’t so, is it?”

“I think people are people, ma’am. No one’s life is perfectly happy. We are flawed creatures, all of us finding our way. Although I suspect it is a far more pleasant prospect to do so without worrying whether one will have enough to eat.”

He did touch her hair then, winding a single lock around his finger, tugging it ever so slightly so she knew.

“How long does it take to get it right, Lord M? To figure everything out? To know…how it should be, and make it so?”

Melbourne laughed, not unkindly. “You ask me, ma’am? I suggest you ask someone who has done a better job of it than I.”

Victoria shifted and without signaling her intent, leaned back against him in a gesture so trusting, so entirely sure he would be there to support her weight, that it told him all he needed to know. After a moment he rested his chin on her head and reached one arm around her. They sat like that, in perfect stillness, for a long time, a long peaceful time.

“I think, William, that if I knew where to find one I would like an Indian jasmine.” Melbourne knew, of course, what that particular blossom was meant to convey. _Jasmine, Indian – I long for attachment_

“Perhaps I can send to the east for one, ma’am. Although it would be quite unnecessary to expend such effort for such a simple wish.  Perhaps...a jonquil? Although that too would be quite unnecessary, to send for something you already have in abundance.” _Jonquil – I desire a return of affection._

Victoria’s own hand left her lap and moved to his leg, where she rested it, her fingers idly tracing patterns across the fabric of his breeches. “You are dressed? You are not staying tonight?”

“I am staying, ma’am. I have not been sleeping well lately. I find if I am to sleep at all it is best done in my chair, where sleep sometimes creeps up on me.” Melbourne’s own open hand rested on her abdomen quite innocently, but he became aware how little he would have to extend his fingers to reach her. As if she read his thoughts she shifted slightly, bringing herself within reach so that he felt the warmth of that secret place giving off its own heat.

“You do not sleep well? Neither do I, when I am…” her voice trailed off and Melbourne understood that she had gone as far as she was able with words. The press of her back against him, the warmth of her, the smell of her skin, filled his senses. Not wanting to disturb their stillness with any sudden movement he gently stroked her cleft with one fingertip, reaching as far back as he could without shifting and drawing it forward in a long gliding movement. Over and over he repeated that one small touch, smoothed by her own silky moisture. She held herself very still, permitting him to find her, until her swollen labia parted and presented the engorged center of sensation. He circled it with his index finger, sliding two others inside and swiftly brought her to climax once, twice in succession. His own need was pulsing, almost frantic, but he ignored it as long as he could until she collapsed against him with a small huff of breath. When she regained her senses and turned to free him the sensation of her hands almost caused him to lose all control from pent up longing. She rose onto her knees and turned to him, lifting him free, her small hand wrapping around him. Melbourne gasped then, from the sheer joy of her touch, and momentarily held very still, fearing he would lose control far too soon. Instead he rose and led her to the bed. Victoria urged him to enter but he wanted to ready her once more if he could, lapping and stroking until she arched her back and thrust her hips toward him, seeking. Then he positioned himself over her and pushed himself in. _Home_ , was the single word which formed in his mind.

Melbourne held her in his arms after. “My wife,” he murmured, his lips against her hair. “Mrs. Melbourne.”

* * *

 “Did my Uncle King see you before he left?” Victoria asked. “I find it so odd that you knew he was leaving before I did.”

Melbourne had sent for coffee and a light morning repast. It was full daylight but he was not ready to surrender his wife to the world and Victoria seemed in no particular hurry to begin the day. She nibbled on some fruit from the platter send up along with a selection of pastries. 

“His stay had been overlong. He must have realized that. He does have a country to run.” Melbourne poured for both of them and handed a delicate china cup to Victoria. She looked her question at him.

“I did see him before he left. We discussed his leaving. I shared my opinion that it would be an optimal time for him to depart.”

“Did he – was he unpleasant to you?”

Melbourne smirked, a small crooked smile tightening his lips.

“He was not particularly pleasant. Neither was I.”

“Did you argue?”

“We did not necessarily agree. We both love you and entertain different ideas on what that should mean in practice.”

“Was he – was he angry when he left?” Melbourne saw the shadow of concern in her eyes.

“In no way that needs to concern you, ma’am. Remember, he loves you and has looked out for you a very long time. I believe he finds it difficult to relinquish that care to me, now.”

“What aren’t you telling me? I suspect Uncle will not delay in telling me his view of your disagreement. I would like to know yours.”

“We were both in a temper, Victoria. He went beyond what I could tolerate and…I hit him.” Melbourne wanted to look regretful and indeed he was, for the potential consequences of his rash action and mostly, because he intensely disliked losing control of his emotions. But he knew that, were the circumstances the same, his reaction would be the same.

“You hit him! That is not like you. I have never seen you angry, not even when – when I had too much to drink that night and you –“ She looked down, unable to meet his eyes, and busied herself carefully setting down the cup she held.

“Victoria.” Melbourne said quietly. _So it would be now_ , he thought. The inevitable discussion of those events which still hung in the air between them. “There was no reason for me to be angry that night. You were upset and befuddled by wine and got turned around in a part of the palace you were not familiar with.”

She kept her face averted. “You know that’s not true, William.”

“I know that nothing happened.” His voice was steady and sure.

 _And I do know,_ he thought. _Because I had to know, I had to be sure._ He had replayed the events of that night so often in his mind. He had brought her back and undressed her, he had cared for her when she was ill and unable to care for herself, and he had seen that no man had been with her. It would have been too soon before his arrival to hide the traces. He was not proud of himself for having scrutinized her while she was ill and out of her senses from alcohol, and it would not have changed his love for her but…it would have changed everything. He had loved and protected and sheltered Caro and allowed no one to malign her in his presence, but he had never been her true husband again after her infidelities began. And the poet had not been the only one, only the most celebrated. After that he had his own mistresses, Lady Brandon in Ireland while Caro remained at Brocket Hall, Norton after her, so many others in between, but never again had he lain with his wife. _Would it have been the same with Victoria?_ He posed himself the question many times, always afraid he knew the answer, no matter how he might will it to be otherwise.

She then allowed herself to hear him, and looked up at him tentatively. “I am so ashamed of myself for the way I acted that night, and the things I said. I was so angry and so hurt. I felt betrayed and I wanted to hurt you so you would know how I felt.”

“In that case, ma’am, you succeeded and we can consider ourselves at a draw.” He tried to make his tone light, teasing even, but was aware when he spoke that he had failed miserably.

“But I didn’t – he wouldn’t and I don’t think I could have actually - “

Melbourne brushed the hair back from her face. “You don’t think you could have gone through with it? I am glad to hear it. I thought – I hoped you would not. But Victoria, I won’t always be there to protect you. And you won’t always end up in the hands of a decent man who….who cares about you well enough to refrain from taking advantage. You must never put yourself in such a position again.”

“I will never – I would never – do such a thing to you again! I felt horrible after, when I remembered!” Victoria exclaimed, shocked out of her embarrassment.

“Even when I’m gone, sweetheart. You will be a very young widow. It can be no other way. You must never put yourself in a situation where you are vulnerable. Cameron is a good man, but remember I told you there are far more bad men in the world than good ones.”

A tapping on the outer door interrupted them. Melbourne drew on his dressing gown and went to open it. A courier stood outside, beside the hall page. He held a small wrapped package in his hand, one Melbourne had sent for before leaving Brocket Hall.

Victoria painstakingly untied the string and unwrapped the parcel. She peered inside while Melbourne watched and saw her put a hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp before she began giggling helplessly. Then she gingerly lifted out the small green cutting, a stem holding two oblong furred pods.. “William…they look like a man’s …” Victoria choked out breathlessly, still giggling.

“Read the card. What does it say?” He grinned, enjoying the sound of her girlish laughter.

_"Filbert: Reconciliation"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I owe some understanding of Lord M’s perspective to a reader who shared his insights with me. We are grateful.


	6. Chapter 6

_Gloxinia_  

Queen Victoria looked up from her writing when Lord Melbourne came in, preceded by two frolicking terriers.

“Cairnach, Islay, where have you been, you naughty dogs? Mama feared Lord M would be late for our meeting.” Both dogs bounded up to her and leapt into her lap. Arms full of squirming, licking fur, the Queen could only lean back to evade wet-nosed kisses in favor of one from her husband.

“The beasts took me farther than I intended to go. That is my reward for taking them to walk in the park.” Melbourne kissed Victoria’s expectant up turned face and laid a hand on her shoulder.

“But I think I am not late. We have time and to spare.”

“I know but…”

“But you feel some anxiety about this meeting?” He gazed at her searchingly. “If you are not sure you wish to proceed as we discussed, then by all means put it off.”

“No, William, not at all. I am not looking forward to Uncle Leopold’s reaction. Or if Sir Robert and the Council declare some other reason I know nothing about, to refuse our suggestions. Diplomatic reasons perhaps…?

“If any such exist, I know nothing about them and made it my business to inquire when I was First Lord of the Treasury. And ma’am, if I may correct you, there are many matters in which you may only warn, advise or question but this is not one of them.”

“Very well.” Victoria sighed. “I really must appoint a new secretary. A _real_ secretary, one who will handle this mass of correspondence and the writing of responses. My hand is quite cramped already and I have only just begun.”

William Cowper, Melbourne’s nephew, had served as the Queen’s Private Secretary for only nine months. He had been able enough but after the recent difficulties with Mrs. Norton Victoria found that while she and her husband had put the matter behind them, she did not have the same confidence – or motivation, she conceded – to accept with equanimity Will’s ongoing friendship with the woman. His dismissal was one of the actions of her Uncle Leopold, King of the Belgians, she had not reversed and Melbourne made no attempt to persuade her. He had, in fact, confided that his sister Lady Palmerston found her son’s connection to the woman she had long despised on her brother’s behalf as infuriating as Victoria did.

“Young Edward Bagot, ma’am? Are you considering him?”

“I am.”

The gentleman in question was a younger son of the former Governor General of Canada. He had graduated Cambridge while his parents were still in the colony and joined the late Prince Consort’s household. Both Victoria and Melbourne had liked him well enough and he was a punctilious young man, very precise in word and manner. A younger son with a widowed mother and few prospects as he had openly declared his intention to remain unmarried – for reasons everyone who recognized the common tendencies of Prince Albert’s companions understood – an appointment to the Queen’s Household would be an unhoped-for sinecure.

“He grew up in the diplomatic service. He understands Court life and was certainly one of the more reticent and careful of Albert’s companions. To his detriment, he has not held any official post before  but this is not a State matter so only your comfort and consideration need apply. Do as you will, ma’am.”

Melbourne sat in one of the leather wing chairs and began leafing through the mail set aside for him.

“From Lady Brandon, ma’am. We can open it together.” His former mistress – one of many, and the least troublesome, in Victoria’s view, ensconced in Geneva with her now-grown children scattered across Europe, existing mainly on a pension Melbourne provided. “She writes to both of us, of course, with her usual discretion.” The letter was addressed to “Lord and Lady Melbourne,” appropriate enough and avoiding any open acknowledgement she corresponded with the husband of the Queen of England. Out of delicacy and good sense, Victoria knew, and probably determination to avoid the quite spectacular fall of her successor.

Melbourne had done his best to explain to Victoria the continued connection, no matter how slight. A several-times-a-year exchange of unobjectionable letters, the lady sending her felicitations quite properly when news of William Lamb’s startling remarriage reached her and Melbourne always responding for both of them, careful to always use plural pronouns and ‘my wife’.

“She will undoubtedly have included a recital of her financial embarrassments, asking nothing, and hoping for an increase,” Melbourne said casually. When he looked up Victoria stood beside his chair. He held out his arm and she planted herself in his lap, wrapping her arms about his neck.

“Mmmm….” Melbourne felt her nuzzling his neck, then sniffing repeatedly.

“What are you doing?” He laughed.

“Smelling you. I love the way you smell.” He felt the tip of her nose poking into the sensitive spot behind his ear.

“How do I smell? Do I want to know? Is it something I should remedy?” Laughing harder, he spanked her derriere. “Victoria, stop, that tickles.” Rather than stopping, he felt her tongue come out and lick at him under the corner of his jaw.

“I want to smell you and taste you. You smell like…you. Ummm…leather and paper and something – sandalwood? jasmine? – and warm man. _You._ ” She giggled in his ear and nuzzled his neck harder. In response he tipped open the edge of her bodice, pressing his nose between her breasts, fetchingly pushed up and out by her corset. Victoria laughed harder and ran her fingers through his hair.

“I love your hair. You have beautiful hair, especially when it’s mussed. Do you know, I used to so long to do this when you were my Minister?”

“Had you done so, ma’am, government business would have been habitually tardy and I would have been turned out of office much sooner than I was."

An equerry opened the door and announced, “Your Majesty, the Privy Councilors.”

* * *

 “Thank you for coming, gentlemen.” Victoria stood at the head of the table in her small conference room. She had decided against using the formal Council chamber because at this preliminary discussion only certain key ministers had been included.

“You are aware, Your Majesty, that no decisions can be made, particularly as they involve the Treasury, without the full Council?”

“Yes, Sir Charles, I am. Thank you for the reminder,” Victoria said crisply. Melbourne suppressed a smile, content to watch with pride as she deftly assumed control. One would never suspect, he thought, that the Queen of England had been caught on her husband's lap not five minutes earlier. For better or worse, Charles Greville had been the first to enter. Melbourne knew Greville well, knew he gossiped like an old woman and documented everything he saw and heard in his vaunted diaries. He assumed the Secretary would repeat the story until everyone in the clubs had heard it.

“We wish to make some changes to the Civil Lists, gentlemen. This is a proposal only, but I do not think there will be anything for Parliament to approve or reject.” Victoria took her seat at the head of the table and glanced only briefly at Melbourne. Just long enough, he knew, for the silent reassurance she still sought from him. He lifted his chin in the slightest possible gesture when their eyes met.

“First, the Council had questioned the disposition of the income and holdings from the Duchy of Cornwall, previously bestowed on our late husband Prince Albert.”

“The income is substantial, Your Majesty. If your intent is to now transfer it to Viscount Melbourne that will require the knowledge, if not the consent, of the House of Lords. While it is a Crown property –“

 Melbourne made a small gesture, intended to abbreviate the threatened speech.

“We do not, Lord Wharncliffe. The Queen wishes to hold the Duchy in trust for the Princess Royale, as her separate and sole property.”

“That is quite unusual. When the Princess marries she –“

“When and if the Princess marries, it is our wish – Lord Melbourne’s wish, which I support – that the Princess have her own property and title separate from any her husband brings to the marriage.”

“In the meantime, if not drawn upon, the interest on Duchy income will rise to astronomical levels, Your Majesty.” Henry Goulburn, Chancellor of the Exchequer, said, almost in awe at the figures he saw compounding in his mind.

“We can determine which portion of those compound and which revert to the Treasury,” Melbourne answered, watching with amusement, fancying he saw pound signs dancing in the man’s eyes. “We wish to use the income which has accrued in the past year to endow a new museum of science and industry in the late prince’s name.

“Next. In the matter of my allowance. I have determined that the current amount, £30,000, exceeds my needs. I have my own income and inheritance which, while not large, is sufficient to my needs. I wish to rescind the –“

“Viscount Melbourne has generously offered to rescind _a part_ of his annual income. This is not a decision I can endorse whole-heartedly but as he is my husband I will bow to his wishes. I think a reduction of £5,000 will be substantial.”

“£20,000, I believe you meant to say, ma’am,” Melbourne interceded. Victoria merely smiled and went on.

“£10,000 then, but no more,” she said firmly. Melbourne opened his mouth to speak, then seemingly thought better of it. “We will finalize the amount, but let it be noted I wish to surrender a good portion, if not all, of the allowance paid to me for my _services_ as husband of Her Majesty. Such services are neither so arduous or so unpleasant as to require reimbursement from the public purse.”

After a moment, each man in the room displayed some hint of unseemly mirth.

“Next, gentlemen. On the subject of the allowance the British government has paid to my Uncle Leopold, King of the Belgians, for the past 27 years, since the death of our cousin Princess Charlotte. This will be discontinued effective immediately. We do not further wish to impugn our Uncle’s authority as King of a sovereign nation by keeping him on a British pension.” That set the room buzzing, although no one showed an inclination to protest.

“Finally, we wish to make our mother the Duchess of Kent known as the Queen Mother. She will increase her services to the Crown and represent us on such ceremonial occasions as we deem appropriate. She currently receives £10,000 a year from the Civil Lists. We wish to increase her income to £30,000 annually. We realize this will require the consent of Parliament, but hope that will not prove difficult because it will be offset by the reductions previously mentioned as well as my offer to pay tax on my income. That is all, gentlemen. If you have any questions for Viscount Melbourne or I, please address us now. If not we will withdraw and leave you to any discussions you might wish to conduct amongst yourselves.”

Victoria swept out of the room with great dignity and Melbourne, pausing only a moment to survey the table with a gently amused expression on his face, followed in her wake.

“That will give them all something to talk about,” Melbourne laughed softly. “You are…amazing, Mrs. Melbourne. I could happily do nothing but watch you all day. How does the girl I wake up with turn into such a…Majesty?” His tone was playful but Victoria saw the hint of moisture in the corner of his eyes. Their tender expression filled her with happiness.

“You did that, my Lord. You turned a shy girl into a Queen.”

“Ah, no. If I may lay claim to anything, it’s that I helped a shy girl become a beautiful and confident woman. The Queen was there all along.”

Victoria reached for his hand as they walked, thinking how long she had dreamed of having the right to do so. It felt as if she had loved this man forever, since before she even met him. “William…you are my everything,” she whispered as they walked down the long marbled corridor.

When they reached her drawing room Victoria paused outside the doors.

“Will we tell Mama or wait until the change has been approved?” She asked.

“I think there is no harm to tell her when you wish. They will not disapprove it. It costs them nothing and you have handed the Treasury quite a substantial sum today. In the matter of your Uncle, ma’am, I wish to write him a personal letter. Whether I do that before or after you write to tell him about the allowance is up to you, but I suggest you write promptly. He has informants everywhere.”

What had gained the Queen’s assent to tackling the matter of Leopold’s allowance had been the realization that his long-time mistress, the actress Caroline Bauer, was not only a cousin of Stockmar but a correspondent of Leopold’s other former mistress, Caroline Norton. Victoria was predictably disgusted  by the web of intrigue she was only beginning to see. Some part of her still loved the man she remembered as a surrogate father, but his role in the Norton scandals had hardened her resolve to at least put an end to the vast sum he had received from her country.

Increasing her mother’s allowance so substantially had been a more difficult decision.

_“Why does Mama need so much money, William? What would she do with it? All her needs are met, she lives here and other than her wardrobe she has no expenses.”_

_“Perhaps your mother would like to have more freedom, Victoria. She is a relatively young woman and has devoted her life to you.”_

_“Freedom? Whatever do you mean?” Victoria’s naïve, almost childlike skepticism amused Melbourne and aroused his protectiveness, even as he knew he would have to help her understand._

_“Victoria, your mother might like to travel. To have a house of her own somewhere to visit occasionally. She might like a…companion.” Predictably, Victoria’s spoiled little girl rose up and dismissed such an idea out of hand. “Sweetheart, you must see your mother as a person in her own right. She is entitled to some happiness too.”_

_“With_ whom? _Sir John Conroy? He is the only man she ever showed an inclination to take as her companion and he is –“_

_“He is in Ireland. Yes. Perhaps your mother would like a house there, to visit occasionally. Perhaps not. I don’t know whether they keep in touch and frankly, I don’t care, as long as he doesn’t trouble you. But you can’t deny your mother a chance to find some happiness wherever she can. She has been alone for twenty five years.” He had watched her process the information and attempt to re-order her thoughts to accommodate the image of her mother as a separate entity, as a woman as well as a mother. Not an easy concept for most children, he knew, even adults. His own mother, of course, had never allowed motherhood to subsume her own identity, as much as she loved each of them._

_Melbourne knew that Victoria would need time. He trusted her to come around – his darling girl could be selfish, but only when she was unaware. She was a naturally warm-hearted, generous person when shown the way._

“I’ll tell Mama as soon as we’re alone. And let her know that she has you to thank,” Victoria said now. She looked both ways, for propriety’s sake only, before twining her arms around her husband’s waist and turning her face up. Melbourne tweaked her under the chin.

“You will do no such thing, ma’am. This is a matter between you and her. You know your mother loves you very much, almost to the exclusion of all else, and she would do nothing she thought might displease you. And I know you love her.”

* * *

 Melbourne rode into town in early afternoon. He had recently neglected his oversight of the Great Build and intended to stop by the construction site as well as the working office he maintained at his South Street House. First, though, he had his driver take him in the other direction, toward the Borough of Richmond Upon Thames. The soaring heights of the great Pagoda towered over the skyline as he approached.

Asking his driver to wait, Melbourne ventured inside. He had no appointment but there were, after all, some advantages to being the Queen’s husband. He had last visited Kew Gardens several years ago, and substantial changes had been made even since his last visit, when Aiton was Director. The structure which would be known as the Palm House was half built, a skeleton of wrought iron that already delighted the eye. He made up his mind to bring Victoria and the children here someday soon, but in the meantime Melbourne strode in and asked for the man who he hoped would become his new best friend.

He was greeted effusively and the new director, Sir William Hooker, offered to show him around. Melbourne explained only that he and the Queen had a burgeoning interest in new and exotic blossoms and was assured that any specimen he desired would be packaged and delivered to the Palace whenever Lord Melbourne requested. He seemed impressed at the blooms Melbourne was seeking that day, and assured him that the more fragile specimen would be carefully harvested, pressed and dried to his exacting specifications. Melbourne then asked to be shown to the tropical section so he could choose the flower he wanted delivered to Buckingham House immediately.

_Gloxinia - Love at First Sight_


	7. Chapter 7

_Honeysuckle, Coral - The colour of my fate_

“Was it love at first sight for you? It was for me, I think, but I did not know you felt the same for - - for a very long time.”  Victoria looked tenderly at her husband, who lounged on the bed. He looked up at her question and then off into the distance, remembering.

“Oh, yes,” He said, his raspy voice cracking just a bit. “I didn’t recognize it as such, but from the moment I kissed hands and rose to look in your eyes I knew that I’d just met the most remarkable person I would ever have the privilege to know.”

“But when did it begin to feel like love?” She persisted, her eyes shining in the candlelight.

“Oh, very soon, ma’am. I would not know what _kind_ of love for considerably longer, but that I had just met the sovereign I would lay down my life for…I think, when you told me quite decidedly you wished to be called _Victoria_. I said your name and something like a shiver ran through me, and I knew then I would serve you unto death.” He paused and a small reminiscent smile quirked his lips. “Fortunately that is not as necessary now for chief ministers, as it was in earlier times. Nonetheless…”

“And you, ma’am? When did you first begin to think that your elderly Prime Minister would make a good husband?” Melbourne closed his book and laid it aside. Victoria gazed at her husband, his long lean figure stretched crosswise on the big bed, as debonair in his worn tapestry dressing gown as he was in his Windsor uniform. She knew he was teasing with self-deprecating humor, but she wanted to answer him seriously.

“I don’t know that I thought in terms of ‘husband’, Lord M. But…from the very first time you looked at me – your eyes were amazing, riveting. You felt more _real_ , more _present_ , than anyone I’d ever met. As though no one had ever really looked at me before. I knew you were extraordinary. And I certainly made it clear I expected you with me every minute of the day.” Her lips twisted into a wry smile. “Which must have been exceedingly tiresome for you at times.”

“At times,” Melbourne agreed, but softly and with so much love in his voice Victoria warmed.

She crawled across the bed and lay against him, her body perpendicular to his, her head resting against his chest.

“Tell me what you heard in town. Has anyone been discussing the changes we proposed to the Lists?”

“Everyone has, ma’am. In the clubs, in the streets, the gentlemen – and the ladies, I’m sure – talk of nothing else. The papers are doing their fair share.”

“But – we spoke only to those Privy Counselors directly concerned. Sir Robert certainly is not the gossiping sort. Who -?

Melbourne resisted the urge to grin broadly, satisfying himself with only a small tight smile. “Oh, ma’am, if Charles Greville knows a thing at breakfast, rest assured the world will know by dinner.”

“That’s unfortunate. Surely it can’t be a good thing for matters discussed _in camera_ to be spread abroad?”

“Good or bad, ma’am, it’s a _thing_.”

“Ought we not to have included him? You said because he’s Council secretary it was necessary that he record even preliminary discussions.”

“Including him was a wise decision. Had he been excluded, he would have done us far more harm with wild speculation.”

“Sir Robert, Charles Greville, Lord Wharncliffe – we couldn’t not have him, he is Council President – and the Chancellor of the Exchequer –“ Victoria continued naming all those present, speculating on the source of the leak.

“Your Majesty, I suggest we not concern ourselves with the source of the information which has reached the people and the press, and merely be grateful it was accurately reported. The idea of the Queen offering to pay income tax is a great boon to Peel’s ministry and will help him hang on that much longer, while it arouses great gratitude and warmth in the hearts of ordinary people. And I’d guess from the fact I was the butt of much joking in my club today, Greville describing his interruption of our private moment did us no harm either. The common people love a love match and those of my peers who were inclined to resent what they perceived as my rise are not only reassured by my lack of any new title, they quite envy me the right to do _this_ –“ Melbourne grinned insolently as he freed one breast from her dressing gown and cupped it in his hand as if weighing it. Then he bent his head and flicked the tip of his tongue rapidly against her nipple.

“William! Stop, I can’t think when you do that!” Victoria gasped in mock protest. “What if I were to –“ and she ducked her head.

“You would quite disrupt our discussion, ma’am. I have a difficult enough time attending to serious subjects. Just ask anyone who served in my Ministry or brought a tedious petition to my attention.”

“Then don’t be serious. I want to play,” Victoria pretended to pouted.

“For just a few minutes longer, ma’am. I was about to explain to you that since what we were calling leaks, the unauthorized release of information, either deliberately or by gossip, can’t be prevented, sometimes they must be used to your advantage.”

“What do you mean?” Victoria sat up once more, focusing on his words.

“I mean…the matter of King Leopold’s pension was going to reach him sooner rather than later, and he has many friends here, both private and in government. He could do a great deal of mischief if he chose. I doubt one person in a hundred had any idea we were sending £50,000 a year to the King of another nation, or would understand why if they had. But now, since the people in the streets know of Your Majesty’s determination to return English money to the English purse, anything Leopold or his agents might say or do will be perceived as spite, in retaliation for your ending his allowance.

"It is my firm belief, based on experience, that while the ordinary people might derive great amusement reading about scandals among those who rule them, what matters at the end of the day is stability, good governance and the money we put back in their pockets. Bread and circuses, ma'am. Let them earn a good living and provide them with some pageantry - not difficult with a pretty young Queen - and they care not what goes on in the palace except that it provides a good show. Hearing that Leopold has been growing fat off the public purse for almost thirty years while giving us nothing in return is not something our countrymen will easily forget, no matter what intrigue he hopes to pursue. And it is you, ma'am, who will be credited with responsible stewardship in trimming the Civil Lists and even offering to pay income tax as do the meanest of your subjects. All of this has been 'leaked' to the newspapers by one of your council, or perhaps Sir Robert's office, at no detriment to you." Melbourne saw the moment she understood.  He also saw a hint of dismay in her expression.

“Would – you don’t think Uncle Leopold would have ever sought to damage me? My reputation?”

Melbourne hadn’t the heart to tell her everything that had been said by Leopold that day. The man had spoken in anger and to antagonize an adversary. He believed there was still affection between uncle and niece and did not want to erode what remained.

“I think he would seek to damage me, and by doing so, might bring you or the Crown into disrepute. He does not forget that he was hired to his present position by a country seeking a King. He might imagine to upgrade his fortunes if history were to repeat itself.”

Victoria grew quiet, digesting that information. Her husband stroked the curve of her check, her elegant jawline.

“Your uncle loves you, Alexandrina Victoria. He might desire your Crown but his affection for you is genuine underneath that ambition. So if we help him set aside self-interest then only the affection remains.”

 "And you, declining a substantial portion of your income as my consort -"

“Although not as substantial as I should have liked. It’s absurd that the nation should pay me for _services_ I am more than happy to provide _gratis_ , or would even pay for. Do you think that might be a source of revenue Sir Robert wishes to explore?” When Victoria took his meaning she laughingly tried to pummel him. He caught her wrists in his hands and pulled her on top of him, chuckling as she shook a waterfall of dark hair into his face.

“I don’t know about _that_ , my lord. Are there many gentlemen who would be willing to pay for…. _this_?” Victoria listened with delight as her always-elegant husband _giggled_ , responding to tickling feather light fingers before her touch grew more insistent. “Ma’am…Victoria…” he gasped, breathless. “We are supposed to be dressing for dinner. Whatever will they all think?”

“They may think what they wish. Probably they have a fairly accurate notion of where we are and why. One of the undoubted benefits of holy matrimony is that we can disappear if we want without scandal, so long as we do it together.” Victoria grew serious once more.

“Where would we be now if I hadn’t persisted, Lord M? If I had just accepted what they wanted?” She moved to lay in his arms, her head pillowed on his shoulder, and idly toyed with the lovely dark hairs on his chest.

“Hmmm…that is an awful thought but if my very insistent and courageous Queen hadn’t _persisted_ in her most flattering and determined pursuit of me, I would be pining away in Brocket Hall, writing you of course, many times a day, but slowly dying inside, deprived of the light of my sun.”

“Oh, that’s so sad. Would you really? Wouldn’t you instead be the toast of society, having one, two, three Duchesses as your mistresses? Delighting everyone in every elegant _salon_ , perhaps hosting your own with a new wife as your hostess? Some unobjectionable new wife chosen by Lady Palmerston for you?” 

“No, no, and no. After you…there would have been no one else. I would have had no inclination for society or mistresses or salons, ma’am. I would have returned to St. Chrysostom and waited for my suffering to end.” Melbourne had tried for a jesting tone but failed, the sudden brightness his eyes giving him away. He surreptitiously passed the back of one hand across his face.

“That’s far too sad and I won’t believe it. You would have always been William Lamb, quite the most fascinating, charming, handsome gentleman in the country.”

“And you, ma’am, what would your life be now? If we hadn’t found our way to each other? If things had not worked out as they did?” Melbourne shifted position so he was sitting up once more, leaning back against the headboard of the bed. Victoria gave the matter serious thought.

“I would have been married to Albert. He would – he would probably be alive, but not happy, as I would not be. And we would make each other more unhappy, each of us blaming the other for taking the place of someone we truly loved. I think I would have tried very hard to convince myself and everyone else that I was happy with my life and my choice because I can not tolerate the idea of failure. But if he had been forced to conceal what his father and our uncle called his shame – his true inclinations – he would have obsessed over convincing the world he was what he was supposed to be. He would have insisted on proving he was capable of doing his duty by putting many children on me and shaping us all into a perfect German middle-class burgher’s family. But he would never have loved or laughed or truly known himself and I – I would not have laughed either, without love.”

She pressed a kiss into the soft skin at the curve of his neck so her lips felt his pulse beating. They lay quietly in the early dusk, both of them aware that they must dress and rejoin the Household once more to avoid the sort of tittering behind hands that was surely already taking place. Instead Victoria’s hand journeyed downward, trailing over the dark hair that grew in such a deliciously tempting line, as if pointing the way. Once more, Melbourne took hold of her wrist, but not before she felt him responding and grinned triumphantly. She stretched out an arm and handed him a sheet of paper from the bedside table. "This is for you. Since you won't accept anything else."

“You, my darling girl, are incorrigible. Dress. Dinner. Our household awaits us.” Melbourne nimbly rolled over and jumped up before she could stop him again, laughing as he went into his own adjacent suite. Once there, before he slipped out of his dressing gown, he looked down at the thick vellum page torn from Her Majesty’s commonplace book. He smiled at the image and the message she had chosen to convey. Most appropriate, he reflected, for this day and the discussion they'd just had. Fate indeed, his and hers inextricably intertwined. Could it have been any other way?

_Honeysuckle, Coral – The colour of my fate_

__


	8. Chapter 8

_Indian Jasmine_

Victoria had spent the morning settling back into Windsor. An army of servants did all the work, of course, and she had delegated most of the details to the Ladies and Gentlemen of her Household, but Victoria still wanted a final review of the plan for the next five days _before_ she presented it to Lord Aberdeen and Robert Peel. King Louis-Phillipe was arriving later that day for a visit to the Queen of England. Victoria’s own planned trip to France had been inevitably interrupted by the attempt on her life and subsequent premature birth of her daughter. Now finally another milestone in Monsieur Guizot’s _éntente cordiale_ would take place.

The Queen’s private secretary, new to the job but not the household, followed her about carrying the lists and itineraries she needed to review.

“Your Majesty, Sir Robert and Lord Aberdeen are here. They are waiting in your study.”

Victoria nodded briskly. “Is Lord M already with them?”

“No, ma’am.” Edward Bagot spoke with precise diction, and his appearance was that of a slender young man who looked considerably younger than his twenty-six years. Fine sandy hair was brushed carefully back from a high forehead and his suit was both understated and exquisitely tailored. His watery blue eyes were attentive.

“Have you seen my husband, Edward?”

“Yes, ma’am, of course. Lord Melbourne was with the _children_ , outside.” His tone clearly indicated disbelief that any gentleman of fashion and a modicum of intelligence would choose the company of infants.

Halfway down the verge the Queen’s consort, former chief minister William Lamb lay on his back on the grass, head propped on one hand, teasing several fat furry puppies which gamboled about, staying just out of reach of the grasping hands of an infant. Victoria stood quietly behind a convenient hedge and watched. The little prince, a boy of nearly four years, was luring the puppies out of reach of his baby sister, who, confined to a blanket spread on the lawn and not yet able to walk, would shriek with laughter and reach out with her arms to capture one or another of the puppies when they ventured close to nibble daringly on a finger or toe.

Victoria admired the tableaux. Her bright, beautiful son the very picture of his father with large expressive green eyes framed by ridiculously long lashes, the Egremont nose and a head of unmistakable sandy brown curls; her baby daughter, small for her age but alert and the very picture of her mother, so everyone said, except that she too had inherited her father’s soft unruly curls. And _him_. Lord M, William Lamb, the love of her life. His own hair was threaded with silver, which only, Victoria thought, made his chiseled features all the more distinguished. And the love on his face when he saw her! She had bloomed into a woman and a Queen under the warmth of just that look, but when it was directed at their children Victoria could truly appreciate the emotional intensity of seeing a man’s heart write large on his face.

Deciding neither to chide him for being late to attend her or rudely interrupt their playtime – one advantage to being Queen, she thought, is that ‘late’ did not apply, since events began when she arrived – Victoria gathered her skirts and sat beside her husband on the grass. Melbourne leaned his head back against the Queen’s bodice and she stroked his forehead fondly.

“You rose early, Lord M. I do not like waking to an empty bed.”

“I did not sleep well again, and did not wish to disturb you with my restlessness. Our Queen needs her beauty sleep.” He tipped his head further back to smile sleepily at her.

“ _Needs_ beauty sleep? Is that an insult, sir?” Victoria teased, before her voice grew serious with concern. “Have you not been sleeping well? Are you ill?”

“No, not at all. Merely…troubled dreams. I fear thrashing about when I do sleep so…”

“You could wake me and talk about it. Or I could find other ways to sooth you.”

Melbourne reached out in time to divert a fistful of grass making its way to the princess’s open mouth. He scooped up his daughter and cradled her in his lap, pressing his lips down on her bonnet.

“You’re not going to tell me what troubles you then?”

“Just bad dreams. Everyone gets them. No matter, I’m sure something I ate or another manifestation of that gout beginning to plague me. Have you come to join us and enjoy this beautiful day?”

“Oh! No, we must meet with Sir Robert and Lord Aberdeen now to go over the arrangements for Louis-Phillipe’s visit. He has landed in Portsmouth and will be arriving here on the train in a few short hours.”

Melbourne groaned, but rose dutifully, extending his hand to assist Victoria in rising. “And I am needed?”

Victoria frowned. “William, it _is_ part of being my husband.”

Melbourne leaned forward and lifted her chin so he could kiss her lips. “It is part of being the Queen’s husband. If I could only be _yours_ , if you could simply _keep_ me like your uncles did their actresses.”

“William!” Victoria squeaked in outrage. “You are _not_ an _actress_! You are a brilliant, gifted man and you must be recognized as my husband, whether you care for the pomp or not. I _will_ have you remembered in history as the wisest man, most skilled politician, and as, yes, the most admired of King Consorts England has ever seen.”

Melbourne chuckled and handed the baby off to one of the bevy of nursemaids standing ready. “I am not and never will be a _King Consort_ , ma’am. It is – it is enough to be a consort.”

“You were going to say ‘bad enough’,” Victoria said softly. “But William, don’t you see how easy it would be to overshadow you to such an extent that when people look back at my reign they don’t notice you at all? And I won’t have that!” She stamped her foot for emphasis.

“Do you really think anyone will remember me? Fox, Canning, Peel. Wellington, certainly. Palmerston’s time will come and even a firebrand like Disraeli will make his mark on our country in years to come. But I don’t think history will devote two lines to Prime Minister Melbourne.” He put an arm around her narrow waist and pulled her to him. “I am content if you and our children remember me.”

“Do you really hate the public parts of being my husband, William? You’ve worked closely with my uncles and have been in government your whole life. How can it be so different?”

“Mrs. Melbourne, do not misunderstand. Having you, the chance to be a father once again – those things give me more joy than I can express. The rest – does not feel quite right to me.” He laughed. “I’m quite sure it doesn’t feel _natural_ to anyone. Let me rephrase that. It doesn’t feel like it’s right for _me_. I keep thinking to wake up to find this isn’t really my life.” He gave himself over to hearty laughter and Victoria slowly, uncertainly, tried to join him. “Never mind me, ma’am. I am merely having the vapors. But that foolishness is my problem and has nothing to do with _us_. This is what matters.” Melbourne stopped walking, and pulled her toward him, watching her face all the while. He wrapped his arms around her tightly.

“If not your life, then whose, William? It is _our_ life and I want you to be content in it. Are you that at least?” Melbourne saw the troubled look in her eyes and kissed each eyelid, then her nose and finally her lips.

“Oooh, yes, Victoria. You know I am. I would not choose to be anywhere else. Now let’s go see Peel and Aberdeen and then I will get dressed up in my organ-grinder’s-monkey jacket and greet Louis-Phillipe with you.”

As they resumed walking Melbourne lifted her hand and kept it enfolded in his. The sun was warm on his shoulders; the sky was a bright robin’s egg blue. The rolling expanse of lawns surrounding Windsor Castle were a vivid green against the darker, almost ominous hue of the woods beyond. He lightly squeezed the small, soft hand in his own, ran his thumb across her palm. Melbourne could smell the light fragrance Victoria wore, and under that the sweet essence of _her_. He could still, if he tried, feel the yielding warmth of his baby girl in his arms, the soft silky feel of his son’s hair.

Melbourne struggled to concentrate on these physical sensations, proof that the world he was in was real. Even to himself he couldn’t explain what that meant, the odd unreality of his days since the dreams began plaguing him.

_When he awoke from the first such nightmare Melbourne had been deathly afraid it was another stroke of cerebral apoplexy taking him, an aberration somewhere in his brain. But no pain followed, no weakness except that of the aftermath of terror, and he dismissed it as no more than a particularly unsettling dream. Grateful for the warm, sweet girl beside him, he had curled himself around her and eventually drifted off into blessedly dreamless sleep._

_When the dream reoccurred – not the exact same dream, he carefully noted in his journal, more of a continuation – Melbourne made up his mind to see a physician. Henry Holland had come out and thoroughly examined him. Finding nothing amiss, pleased with the returning grip of his affected left arm, the greater precision in his fine motor skills on that side, even the higher lift of his foot, the doctor gave him the good news. He coaxed Melbourne into confiding the source of his concern – by pretending to assume it was related to his manhood rather than his mind – and when he heard the story he shook his head, mystified. Granted, Holland opined, there was some anecdotal evidence of forewarning of cerebral stroke, but in those instances the patient reported visual or auditory disturbances during waking, not unusual dreams. “Perhaps I’m not the man you need, William. Perhaps you need a spiritualist,” Elizabeth Fox’s son said with his mother’s sarcastic wit._

Unwilling to give those nightly disturbances another second of precious time, Melbourne brought himself firmly into the _now_.

* * *

King Louis-Phillipe of France and Queen Victoria had been corresponding with great cordiality and even warmth for over a year. Victoria and Albert had been invited to visit at the end of the previous summer, but that trip had of course been aborted after the assassination attempt and subsequent premature birth of Princess Elizabeth. Now Louis-Phillipe was returning to England, the land which had sheltered during his period of exile. Melbourne had become acquainted with then-Duc de Orleans when he lived with his brothers in Twickenham, and had presented his credentials in Paris as the Queen’s special envoy during the peace talks in the spring of 1843.

Queen Victoria and Lord Melbourne had waited outside, ringed by her ministers and the lords and ladies of the royal household, waiting to greet the French sovereign. He had landed in Portsmouth and journeyed to vicinity of Windsor in the royal train, and was delivered from rail siding to the palace in an ornate State coach.

He greeted Victoria effusively, with Gallic warmth and vivacity, and she responded in kind. To Melbourne, his first words after planting kisses on both cheeks were delivered with an impish smile and twinkling eyes. “Lord Melbourne, I see England knows how to reward its ministers well. Congratulations on your marriage.”

Melbourne smiled back laconically and inclined his head in acknowledgment of the sally. “Indeed, Your Majesty, we find it costs less than a pension in exile.”

"Ah, yes, but you only have the one Queen, so -" Louis-Phillipe spread his hands, palms up, in a very French gesture, and Melbourne couldn't help but laugh softly. 

It had been determined to host the Citizen King at Windsor rather than in the heart of the City to avoid the inevitable protestors who would assemble. Melbourne would escort Louis-Phillipe to the building site where the new Houses of Parliament now stood, still under construction with several years remaining before they were habitable, but an impressive sight all the same.

Lord Aberdeen, the Foreign Secretary who had devoted his time in office to peacemaking with his friend François Guizot, and this next phase of éntente cordiale he viewed with great complacency as the fruits of his labor. Melbourne’s own Foreign Secretary, Lord Palmerston – that same Henry Temple now wed to his sister – had unfortunately been too aggressive in his rivalry with the French and had pushed the two countries to the bring of war. Melbourne regretted not reigning him in, but conceded that exerting control over headstrong ministers had not been his forte.

Louis-Phillipe brought his own youngest son, Antoine, Duc de Montpensier, while his Queen remained at home. Melbourne was an adept courtier and had prepared to assume that role. He was surprised to discover that the French King treated him as a near-equal, rather than a politician who had climbed the social ladder to dizzying heights. The man was charming, Melbourne conceded, and gave every indication of wanting to abandon the jockeying for position France and England had engaged in for centuries.

Louis-Phillipe had admirable guest manners and purported to be delighted with all the entertainments arranged for his amusement. It was arranged that they would attend the ballet for a performance of La Esmeralda, to be followed by a light supper. Victoria was still in her dressing room when Melbourne came in and leaned against the door, watching, hands in his pockets.

“You look very handsome,” Victoria purred, looking at her husband in the mirror, admiring him in white tie and tails. Melbourne’s gaze met hers through the darkling glass, fixed on the look of adoration on her face that sustained him. “Why so serious?” She asked, her own brows coming together in concern.

“Why not, ma’am? I am merely taking advantage of my very privileged position to study the most beautiful – “ He had begun playfully, in caressing, lilting tones but his voice cracked before he could finish and to his own sudden mortification, tears filled his eyes. Victoria, to spare his pride, glanced down momentarily, then dismissed her maid with a gesture and went to him.

She wore a daringly low-cut, close-fitting gown just the color of café au lait, edged with feathers dyed to match around a neckline which bared her shoulders. A magnificent breastplate of diamonds as large as robin’s eggs flashed fire and lent an iridescent sparkle to her smooth skin, and the matching earrings and tiara reflected their light in her eyes. Victoria knew she looked good and like all women relished the feeling.

She stood in front of her husband, so closely that she could feel his warm and the solidness of him through the thin, clinging satin of her gown, and laid her arms on his hips, pressing herself against him. Melbourne’s arms lifted as if of their own accord and he embraced her.

“So lovely. My Victoria,” he said in a low, reverent tone.

“All mine, Lord M?” She whispered in return, using the words she’d used so many times before, and had dreamed of using even longer.

“I wish we did not have to sit separately.” Etiquette demanded that in the royal box the Queen sit beside her fellow sovereign, while her husband and her mother, who was accompanying them in Queen Marie Amelia’s place, would sit behind.

“I will be right behind you. And have a good view of - - the attractions at the opera.” Victoria’s eyes flashed until she saw where he was gazing.

“Mine had better be the only breasts you look at tonight,” she teased in a mock stern tone.

Together they left the Queen’s dressing room and were greeted by a rich, evocative fragrance that saturated the air. Victoria gasped with delight when she saw the vases filled to overflowing with white flowers. “Oh, William! I didn’t hear them come in. These are magnificent, and so many! And oooh, this fragrance! What are they?”

“Indian Jasmine. You recently wished for some.”

“Some? You’ve brought me an entire ship’s worth! Do they come all the way from India?”

“I could say yes,” Melbourne smiled ruefully. “But in truth I found a grower in Tuscany and had them brought over. I sent…a yacht.”

“A naval vessel brought these? How resourceful of you!” Victoria laughed delightedly and went from one container to the next, inhaling deeply, touching the white petals delicately.

“Well, it is _your_ navy, ma’am. And it was only a yacht, not a fighting vessel.” His lips were quirking in one of the small secret smiles she loved.

Victoria picked up her worn volume and thumbed to the page she needed, “ _Indian Jasmine_ ,” bending the corner to come back to later. " _The soul’s longing for attachment."_

Melbourne took the stiff taffeta cloak laying across an ottoman and held it out for his wife. He tenderly arranged the stiffened collar with feathers matching those on her gown and worked the closure at her throat. Then he gently kissed her temples, her cheeks and finally her lips.

“Victoria. My love.” His words fell on her ears like a benediction and Victoria felt safe, so safe, in his arms. As long as he was with her, nothing else mattered.

_Indian Jasmine: The soul's longing for attachment_


	9. Chapter 9

Justicia

 

No one was yet stirring when the Queen swept into the breakfast room. She glanced at the newspapers neatly arranged at the end of the table and looked about for coffee and something to nibble on. Surprised that the sideboard was clear, polished and gleaming, Victoria looked about puzzled. Of course she normally did not rise before eight, and staff had no reason to anticipate she would be dressed and ready to begin her day while they still lingered in the servants’ hall, but this did not occur to her. Food and drink were always _there_ , nothing she had to request or even think about. Puzzling over the omission, Victoria walked to her office.

 Edward, her private secretary, met her in the corridor, breathless, his normally neat appearance slightly awry, a fleck of shaving cream still clinging to his chin.

“Your Majesty,” he gasped, bowing awkwardly, the points of his starched color jabbing at his throat.

“Edward, I would like a few minutes to look over my personal letters. If you would give me a half-hour…?” His head bobbed in relieved assent and Victoria silently congratulated herself on her tact.

Victoria planned to use her extra hour to advantage, getting some work done well before King Louis-Phillipe would be up and her duties as hostess would require her to concentrate on entertaining him.

They had sat through the ballet, finding more entertainment in criticizing the performance – both Lord M and the King had contributed witty complaints which had Victoria and even her mother in gales of laughter – than they had in the display itself. The gentlemen conveyed by discreet gestures the ladies pretended not to notice, their approval of the feminine beauty on display across the stage but during the performance itself Victoria knew by her husband’s soft snores that he had found little of interest.

Afterward the four of them – Melbourne and the Queen, the Duchess of Kent and King Louis-Phillippe – and enjoyed an elegant champagne supper and convivial conversation. The King had been on terms of friendship with Victoria’s father while he was still in Nova Scotia, and as he avoided mentioning Madame St. Laurent, both Victoria and her mother were able to enjoy his reminiscences.

When they retired, Victoria allowed her maid to assist in removing her clothing and locking away the splendid diamonds, then dismissed her in favor of her husband’s assistance with the rest of her toilette.

She carried her hairbrush to the great bed they shared and luxuriated in the feel of his gentle fingers expertly removing pins and spreading her hair out like a long silky cape. He amused her with gentle patter, his observations of their distinguished visitor and the foibles of those around them in the gilt boxes reserved for those aristocrats who subscribed for the privilege of proximity to the Queen. Victoria closed her eyes with an expression of bliss as he carefully brushed her hair free of tangles. When he was finished she curled herself against his lean body and waited for his arm to go around her shoulders, hugging her to him.

She struggled to stay awake until after he slept, but as was their custom, he did not sleep until he knew she had dozed off. Still, the internal alarm she had set roused her sometime later, after he was sleeping soundly, and she propped herself on pillows, determined to guard his sleep as he so often guarded hers.

It was during the darkest part of the night that she became aware of his restless shifting about. Small movements, the clenching and releasing of muscles perhaps, were all that marred his peace, but as attentive as she was, Victoria saw the changes. Beneath closed lids his eyes were moving rapidly and she instinctively laid a hand on his forehead to sooth him. He seemed to draw some solace from her touch, because she felt the tension leave his body. When he rolled over and turned to her, seemingly seeking her warmth, she slid down enough that he could easily rest his head on her breast and that way they both slept. When she woke once again, it was to the sound of his voice. Barely audible, he was saying something – _a name?_ – urgently. Victoria’s heart clenched, afraid of who he might be calling for, but when she held her breath and listened intently what she heard was her own name in a hoarse whisper almost like a prayer. “Victoria”. Leaning over him in the gloom, she saw two fat tears roll down his cheeks. She instinctively responded, soothing him in the only way she could, and without fully waking he accepted what she offered.

He was sleeping peacefully when Victoria came fully awake at dawn, and after ensuring he was no longer caught in the throes of whatever troubled his sleep she kissed his cheek tenderly, brushing her lips against the rough growth of beard, and rang for her maid to dress and begin her day.

* * *

 “You have the servants in a panic, ma’am,” Melbourne said as he strolled into her office shortly after eight. “The Queen never deviates from routine and rumor has it you were skulking about long before they expected you.”

He leaned over her shoulder and lifted the coiled braid over her ear to kiss her in just the place she liked so well, the tender spot beneath her ear at the corner of her jaw.

“We have a letter from Uncle Leopold,” she announced, pushing the envelope across the desk toward him.

“I doubt _we_ do. What does he say?” They were interrupted and Melbourne held a hand up, indicating she should wait until the servants busy setting out a coffee service on the low table by her couch had finished.

Victoria moved out from behind the desk and went to sit beside her husband on the sofa. She poured coffee for both of them and fixed his the way he liked it.

“I will read it to you.”

 

 

 

> _My dearest and most beloved Victoria – I have been highly gratified that you found a moment to write me such a dear letter. I am sure that you will find the visit most interesting, and at the same time remove some impressions on the subject of the King which are really untrue. Particularly the attempt of representing him like the most astute of men, calculating constantly everything to deceive people._
> 
> _His vivacity alone would render such a system extremely difficult, and if he appears to occasionally to speak too much and to seem to hold a different language to different people, it is a good deal owing to his vivacity and his anxiety to carry conviction to people’s minds._
> 
> _The impression of his visit will besides do wonders in removing the silly irritation which had been got up since 1840, and which might in the end have occasioned serious mischief, and that without being in the least called for, the passions of nations become very inconvenient sometimes for their Governors._
> 
> _My regards to Lord Melbourne. He wrote me a most congenial letter and I am very glad of it, as it had some time ago been the fashion to invent all sorts of nonsense that I am sure you are too steady to consider._
> 
> _I left Stockmar extremely hypochondriacal, but I trust not so unwell as he fancied. His son accompanies him to Coburg._
> 
> _Your devoted Uncle, Leopold R_

Victoria looked at Melbourne with a hopeful expression.

“So do you think this means that any unpleasantness over the pension will not come to pass? And that you and he have set aside your grievances? I do hope so. I love you more than my life, and I love him too, as one who has always been in some ways a father to me.”

“Sweetheart, you never have to fret on my account. Whether your uncle and I ever reach anything like an understanding is up to him, but I would never ask you to cut off contact or do anything that pains you. He and I can work out our differences, or not, without involving you.”

“I can not forgive him if he intended to cause a rupture between us, William. I hope that he was only doing as he thought right, as misguided as it was.”

“Then that is what you must believe. Now…what other business is there before we join King Louis-Phillipe? I take him into London to visit the site today and then to Aberdeen for a few hours. Tonight we dine in the Waterloo Gallery?”

“We do. It will be a formal State dinner so –“

“So will I wear the Windsor uniform?” Melbourne grinned. “I think you just like seeing me in it. Perhaps as revenge for your corsets? It has that same constricting effect.”

“I _do_ like seeing you in it. No one wears it as well as you! At least the weather is cool enough it shouldn’t be _too_ very uncomfortable?” Victoria slid closer to her husband and leaned against him, drawing his arm over her like a shawl.

“Hmm, so early in the morning for a show of public affection. Are you determined to cause scandal, Mrs. Melbourne?” He turned her face up and nibbled at her bottom lip playfully.

“You seem in fine form this morning. Did you sleep well?” Victoria was pleased that she need not meet his eyes; instead she lay her head back against his shoulder.

“I had a delightful dream, sometime towards morning. At least, I think it was a dream. Or a succubus visited me during the night. I’ve read about such things. They were popular in religious tracts in the middle ages. _Such_ descriptions, given only to warn men of the dangers, of course.”

“Was this creature you dreamed of _evil_ , then?” Victoria’s eyes sparkled and a smile curled her lips, enjoying the lighthearted teasing, even as she noted that he did not speak of any less pleasant sleep disturbances earlier, if he remembered them.

“Oh no, this was a good succubus.”

“Was she beautiful?”

“Oh yes, very beautiful. At least, I did not _see_ her but she had a most satisfactory effect and apparently knew me very well.”

“In that case, I am glad you had such pleasant dreams, Lord M. Were you to call out for any _other_ ladies in your dreams I might pour out a pitcher of water on your head. Only to rouse you from what would surely be a most unpleasant dream.” Victoria was still teasing and did not see the quick look of surprise on Melbourne’s face.

“Did I call out for any ladies by name, ma’am? Surely not! When I have you by my side I would not need to.”

“Only me. You called for me, quite urgently it seemed.”

They lingered a while longer, both of them not overly eager to join the others. Melbourne fed Victoria grapes from a bowl which had arrived with the coffee and pastries. His eyes never left her face and under that warm, loving gaze Victoria blushed and flirted prettily. When they finally entered the morning room where Victoire and some of the ladies of the household were conversing with the King of France, no one failed to note the palpable bond of affection between them. It was, as Louis-Phillipe would later write to his chief mistress, not usual to see a Queen and her consort hold hands so openly, in the light of day.

* * *

Melbourne was relieved that Louis-Phillipe concurred with his choice to avoid the pomp of an official visit to London, more than content to ride in the same discreetly unmarked coach Melbourne customarily used. For reasons of security outriders had been arranged, but as specified these Cavalry guards wore plain black broadcloth suits and their mounts were saddled without regimental trim.

News of visiting royalty couldn’t be completely suppressed, however, and amongst other unforeseen events, Melbourne was informed by a harried George Von Wettin that not only had Barry not fully recovered from the railway accident which had sidelined him, Mr. Pugin had not given his full attention to the matter of interior decoration since he was preoccupied by the death of his second wife and subsequent acquisition of a third. The final piece of information Von Wettin imparted, in a serious tone, was perhaps the most disturbing for other reasons. The great “Spirit of Justice” mural artist Daniel Maclise was painting in the House of Lords was modeled on none other than Caroline Norton. Draped and holding aloft brass scales, the woman had gotten herself memorialized for all eternity. She was that day sitting for the artist, wearing little more than a wound sheet. Cursing her to perdition mentally, Melbourne judged that ignoring her continued determination to put herself forward was all he could do at present, with the King of the French at his side ogling the half-nude artist’s model he beheld.

As if _that_ contretemps wasn’t enough, a clown from Astley’s Circus had devised an entertainment sure to stick in the mind of their illustrious visitor. While Melbourne and Louis-Phillipe stood by, Melbourne in shocked disbelief, the King in amused wonder, the fool sailed down the river past their observation post in a washtub drawn by two geese. On the bridges and banks all work stopped so the laborers could gawk and cheer.

All in all, King Louis-Phillipe’s visit to the nascent Houses of Parliament was considered a great success, at least by the King, and he shared his satisfaction with Lord Aberdeen and Robert Peel.

Before driving back to Windsor Melbourne detoured past Kew Gardens to confirm that the delivery he had requested was successfully executed, and spent a relaxing half hour amidst the greenery.

When he returned to the Castle he looked in on Victoria and invited her to accompany him to the nursery. While she paid scheduled visits every morning, he was wont to appear throughout the day. Seeing the Queen, all the young attendants hurried to curtsy, a formality they did not observe with her husband. Melbourne dismissed them, asking them to return in a half hour, and scooped up the baby from her spot in the sunshine. Baroness Lehzen did not look well pleased at having her routine disrupted, and Victoria spontaneously hugged her.

“Dear Lehzen, are we disturbing you?” Victoria trilled. “I promise we will not stay long. You _are_ dining with us tonight, I hope? Come, show me Liam’s workbooks.”

Melbourne appreciated how deftly she handled Lehzen’s prickly overzealousness and took advantage of the opportunity. When Victoria returned, their son beside her, Melbourne handed off the baby they called Lily, little as her governess approved of the pet name, and lifted his son high in the air. As their governess watched, the royal children laughed and played with their parents.

As the dinner and reception for King Louis-Phillipe was a State occasion the household order of precedence did not apply and Melbourne knew he would be well down the line in order of appearance. The King would escort Victoria, his son the Duchess of Kent and the Prince of the Blood, Sussex, his own wife. Melbourne sought out his old friend Emma Portman and gave her his arm. She looked up, surprised.

“I am to have the honor of walking with you, William?”

“Yes, Emma. At any rate, after my wife there is no one else I’m willing to risk being paired with so you have the _duty_ of taking my arm.” They laughed together, comfortable in one another’s presence.

“How goes it with you, William? I feel as though I haven’t seen you except in passing since you returned from Melbourne Hall. Are you well recovered?” Melbourne saw the intensity in her eyes and as always, felt just a trifle disconcerted, knowing that her feelings were far warmer than his could ever be. Still, they were friends of longstanding, as far back as childhood, and he liked her greatly.

“I am recovered, thank you, Emma. From my stroke and from the more recent difficulties I’m sure you know all about.” His expression was kind, fond even, and she quickly masked her own feelings with a dry wit.

“We all know you took an extended leave of absence to Brocket Hall. Simultaneously, we notice that Her Majesty’s most faithful admirer likewise absented himself from Court. To India, I hear. Was that the source of the difficulty you mention?” She made a face that conveyed far more than her words. “If so, I will refrain from reminding you that I had warned you about that particular situation.”

“Emma…” his tone carried a warning. “Those two circumstances were not connected in the way I fear you imagine. And if you hear anything to the contrary, I depend on you to quash rumors. There is nothing to it.”

“Ah…then the source of the trouble was the _other_ situation I warned you about?”

“Perhaps. Although not in the way I hope you know me better than to imply. You know I adore _her_ , and would never –“

“I know _that_ , William. I have never seen a man more besotted by a woman than you are by our little Queen. Well, I can only say I am glad to see you back and, as much as I hate saying it, happy together once more.”

As they began shuffling slowly forward, hearing the steward’s stentorian tones announcing each guest, Melbourne told her the story of the mural and was rewarded by her own choking sound of scorn.

“I hope for her own peace of mind Victoria – Her Majesty, I should say – can come to terms with the fact of that woman, because I fear she will be a thorn in both your sides as long as she lives.”

“I do too, Emma, I do too.”

When they reached the entrance to the vast gallery, a glittering golden space with high domed ceilings and gilt on every surface, Melbourne looked down the long expanse of red carpet to the ornate table, laid for at least a hundred guests. At intervals the candelabra flanked vases with exotic scarlet blooms. The grandest of these was at the head of the table, nearest the Queen.

Melbourne walked Lady Portman to her seat, far down the table amidst the other minor nobility, before going to his own, on the Queen’s right. That much at least she insisted on, as she had since the earliest days of their friendship. She would have her Lord M on her immediate left, no matter whose right to preferential seating might be usurped.

When he took his place she looked to him with an expression she reserved just for him, her eyes shining with an intoxicating blend of admiration, sheer adoration and desire. He picked up her hand and pressed her fingers to his lips, meeting her eyes for a long pulsing moment of connection. Then he indicated the tall floral arrangement before her.

“You ordered these?” Victoria said, surprised.

“I was assisted by the Steward, my Lord Chamberlain and a gentleman I must take you to meet someday, the director of Kew Gardens. But yes, I chose them. I couldn’t bear to alter the jasmine yet, their fragrance is quite intoxicating. They say it’s an aphrodisiac.” Melbourne was rewarded by the light blush suffusing her cheeks.

“They also say jasmine ensures pleasant dreams,” Victoria murmured, reminding him.

“Yes, quite. These are called _Justicia_. Quite suitable for such an exalted occasion, and especially for such a beautiful hostess.”

Victoria’s eyes sparkled with pleasure and it was with the greatest reluctance that she turned dutifully to converse with the King on her right.

_Justicia: The perfection of female loveliness_


	10. Chapter 10

_Kennedia_

Melbourne walked absent-mindedly into the library and stopped short, seeing the Queen already there. Victoria was standing in the open French doors, the sun on her face like a benediction.

He felt his heartbeat lurch and then race, seeing this beautiful young girl in her pale diaphanous gown, shrouded by a brilliant aura of light. The perfect crystalline clarity of the air only enhanced his sudden sense of disorientation. Victoria turned from the window and smiled when she saw him watching her. That smile softening and lighting her face from within, the unforced flattery of a young girl’s wide-eyed admiration and unconsciously flirtatious manner was as familiar and as necessary as air to him.

Melbourne collected himself and dropped smoothly to one knee, kissing her hand in greeting. As he rose he detected a hint of confusion on her face and also subtle reminders that this was not the absurdly young girl he’d fallen helplessly, hopelessly in love with but rather a young woman who through some unexplained miracle had become his wife. In this Victoria, naïve innocence had matured into a woman’s awareness, her appealing shyness still present but tempered with a veneer of self-confidence. This Victoria was the splendid hot-blooded creature she was destined to be, and this Victoria was the delectable source of unimagined joy in his autumn years.

 “We danced until three. The King won’t be up for _hours_ ,” Victoria said in a soft, sultry voice, her expression playful and intimate both, her fingers tracing lines in his palm.

Melbourne tilted his head, letting his gaze slide over her, and he smirked at her choice of words. “Poor King. I can’t say the same.” When she took his meaning Victoria beamed with delight, and moved forward closely enough that their bodies touched. She toyed with the buttons on his waistcoat, biting her bottom lip in a gesture that maddened him. Melbourne tipped up her chin and kissed her, beginning lightly but soon pulled down into a vortex of desire. When they finally drew apart Melbourne was pleased to see her eager for more, her arousal rising to meet his own. Unfortunately, it was mid-morning, servants and members of the  household were about, and there were proprieties to be observed.

“Oh, devil take propriety!” Victoria huffed, swaying into him, her hands reaching for his waistband. Stymied at that, he sucked in his breath as she stroked him through the fabric of his clothing.

“Victoria,” Melbourne said in an attempt to sound stern. An attempt at which he failed miserably, he thought. “Be a good girl now.” How ludicrous, he reflected, that he should have to be the voice of prudence and dissuade his pretty and very young wife from such pleasurable activity. Laughing outright now, he spun her around and wrapped her arms around her own waist, pinning them in place. She giggled as she squirmed to free herself and thus they were when Lord Aberdeen, the Foreign Secretary, was announced.

Melbourne only slowly released his wife from his arms, and then kept hold of her hand, tucking it into his arm, as he sketched a polite bow in greeting. Victoria, he noticed with pride, was equally unflustered, merely arranging her features into the cool, pleasant expression she habitually showed her ministers.

George Hamilton-Gordon, 4th Earl of Aberdeen, was a contemporary of Melbourne’s, who knew him as a dour, awkward, occasionally sarcastic man but a capable diplomat. He knew Aberdeen considered him one with Henry Temple, Lord Palmerston, who had served as Melbourne’s own Foreign Secretary. Aberdeen had spent the past few years undoing much of the mischief Palmerston had wrought with an overly ambitious – some might say aggressive – foreign policy. In truth, Melbourne’s own convictions were decidedly more centrist than the man who was now his brother-in-law and he recognized his own lack of firmness in reining in some of the other man’s adventurism. In the matter of a near naval war with France, for example…

Aberdeen knelt and kissed the Queen’s hand, and when he rose bowed formally to Melbourne. Victoria took a seat behind her desk and invited her minister to do likewise. Melbourne stood by choice, behind and to the side of Victoria, hoping to underscore the role he now played, neither an equal to his wife nor a rival to her ministers.

The Queen no longer treated her audiences with Peel and his government as the lengthy, relaxed, quasi-social encounters they had been when Melbourne was Prime Minister. He was pleased with the manner in which she conducted herself, having overcome an early, ingrained aversion to the Tory government. Her relationship with Peel would never be easy – he was far too stiff and awkward still, and that made Victoria more remote and forbidding than she could otherwise be – but she had learned to respect his capabilities.

“You left before the ball last night, Lord Aberdeen. His Majesty seemed quite satisfied with the entertainment and the company we assembled.”

“So I gathered. Thus far his visit has been successful, and I’d like to express the government’s appreciation to Your Majesty.” Victoria permitted herself a small, chill smile and delicately lifted a brow.

“Lord Melbourne has been an exceptional host. I believe their visit to the site of our new Houses of Parliament was a great success. His Majesty has said he found it most amusing and could talk of little else.”

“Yes. May I ask whether Your Majesty has had communication on the subject of King Louis-Phillipe with the King of the Belgians?” Victoria resisted the urge to look up at Melbourne, who shifted slightly.

“My uncle wrote us only to commend our decision to host the French king and pursue détente. Of course, as you and Sir Robert are aware, this visit is purely a personal visit and I leave discussions of policy to my government.”

“I am glad to hear you say that, Your Majesty. Monsieur Guizot and I have worked long and hard to put the difficulties of the Melbourne years –“ Melbourne inclined his head only slightly, and permitted the merest trace of expression to tighten his lips. “- of 1840 behind us. Of course I mean no disrespect to you, Lord Melbourne. We are all aware that the Oriental Crisis had more than one cause. However, it has come to our attention that King Leopold has been in contact with Lord Palmerston. Are you aware of that?”

Melbourne was genuinely surprised, and only the carefully smooth, deliberately mild expression he’d perfected over many years in government and Court circles concealed his feelings. He had not been aware of such contact, of course, and silently cursed Henry. _Had Emily known? Was that little minx wading into petticoat diplomacy again?_

“Please explain,” Victoria said in a coolly noncommittal voice. “I encourage my uncle to avoid discussion of policy and politics in his letters to me.”

“It seems the King of the Belgians is perhaps anticipating a change in government, or simply wants to keep feelers in place amongst those Whigs who helped put him on his throne. However, I don’t have to remind you how inappropriate it is that a foreign power initiates such communication with the Opposition. Especially as if word got out it could jeopardize foreign relations.”

“What did King Leopold discuss with Palmerston?” Melbourne asked, careful to avoid the appearance of talking over or on behalf of the Queen.

“According to our intelligence –“ Melbourne strongly suspected that diplomatic pouches were no more secure than the mails, a suspicion he’d harbored since those distant days when he served in the Castle of Dublin and his own letters were opened on a regular basis. “ – Leopold has another Coburg princeling in search of a profitable alliance and seeks to put him on the Spanish throne.”

“Prince Leopold? My cousin? Indeed – is he marriageable age yet? I suppose he must be. Leopold briefly proposed –“ Victoria paused, aware she was thinking aloud, an unforgiveable sin in a sovereign. That much Melbourne had tried most delicately to impress upon her. Melbourne suspected what she had been going to say, and that she had stopped herself out of consideration for him rather than Aberdeen.

“Prince Leopold of Saxe Coburg Gotha. Yes, I believe Leopold harbored some hope of the prince taking his elder cousin’s place. Unfortunately he was forced to abandon that hope when our Queen chose her husband from English stock.” Melbourne permitted his wry amusement to show in the hint of a smile. “I am surprised he lacks the foresight and patience to wait me out. I won’t last forever. Nonetheless, you were saying?”

“Whatever he may have thought, I daresay we are quite satisfied to not have another penniless Coburg prince foisted on us – forgive me, Your Majesty – and so he has been casting his net towards Spain. You can see how it would go if it appeared that we appear to endorse such ambitions.”

“ _We_ do not endorse anything, Lord Aberdeen. I am shocked that he would write to Lord Palmerston of such matters. What might he hope to gain by that?” Melbourne noted approvingly Victoria’s tone and demeanor. _Let them see she is not conspiring with her uncle in anything. That old fool is determined to keep himself relevant and since he lost his grip here he seeks to find a back door to squeeze through._

Aberdeen shrugged. “On the surface, he seeks to send out feelers, to assess Palmerston’s, and by extension, the Opposition’s, willingness to support his ambition and thwart the agreements we have in place. Underneath – who knows? We did hope that his outreach to Palmerston meant that at least he had not found a receptive audience in Your Majesty.”

“As I said, Lord Aberdeen, we knew nothing of this. My uncle was here for an extended visit and then returned to Belgium. He undoubtedly found much business had accumulated in his absence, because we have had only a single letter from him and that I am happy to let you read.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. Of course your assurance is enough, but there may be some small clues as to his intentions that we are able to parse out.”

Melbourne had been idly examining his nails, but looked up and met Aberdeen’s gaze. “Quite right. Her Majesty’s secretary will make a copy of the letter for you and messenger it over.” Despite his laconic delivery, Melbourne’s message was clearly received: the original would not be handed over on demand.

“Excellent. Thank you, Lord Melbourne, Your Majesty. Again, please accept our thanks for your assistance in cementing the new friendship with the French. Peace benefits all parties. If I might say, ma’am, the State dinner last night was truly memorable. The Waterloo Gallery was a stunning venue and I think King Louis-Phillipe must have been duly impressed, and honored. Versailles could not have looked better.”

“Yes, it was lovely, wasn’t it? King Louis-Phillipe particularly remarked on the flowers our Kew Gardens provided. Such exotic blossoms!” Victoria smiled with genuine warmth for the first time, glancing over her shoulder at her husband. She rose and indicated with a look that the audience was over, and waited as Aberdeen bowed and backed out of the room. Then she turned to Melbourne.

“Oh will you sit down, William? You are not my _servant_ or my minister.”

“I am aware, ma’am. I am reminded each evening when I retire.” He smirked and laid his hands on her shoulders, his breath warming her neck. Victoria laid her hands over his and tipped her head back, resting it on his chest for a moment, drawing, Melbourne knew, the reassurance of his presence and his strength she needed.

“I should leave you, ma’am. I find I have business in town.” Victoria went around the desk and sat in a corner of the sofa, patting the cushion beside her.

“Lord Palmerston? Please, talk to me first.”

“Very well, but it is a situation I should handle.”

“Why?”

“Because he was my minister when he first stirred up trouble with the French that nearly led to war, and I failed to stop him. Because now he is my brother-in-law, and that family connection alone is enough to raise suspicion, as you saw. The fact that he conspires with the King of the Belgians makes it appear to be a family affair.”

“I do not know what transpired when he was your minister, although I would like to understand more about that situation. I do know that now you were as surprised as I was, and neither of us knew anything about him being in communication with Uncle Leopold. To be fair, we only heard that Leopold wrote him, not how or if he responded.”

“I think we can safely assume he did not bring that letter to Peel or Aberdeen, which he was honor bound to do. That itself is damning. But I take your point, ma’am. I will hear him out and then let him know my feelings. If I didn’t rein him in then, I will certainly do so now.”

“Did you know Leopold ever thought to marry me to _another_ cousin after Albert’s death?”

“I did, ma’am. I thought you did also.” Melbourne hesitated, debating whether he should continue. “I believe the young man was privy to the conditions upon which you wed Albert, and declined to accept a marriage that would inevitably involve him being cuckolded from the start.”

“Good for him, then. Considering their lack of resources in that branch of the family, I would not have expected him to demur. So I am not nearly the catch Leopold thought I was.” Victoria grinned, pleased at the thought. “I applaud his good sense. Marrying a woman with two children and a lover sharing her household was not such a bargain then.”

“Perhaps he hopes to wait me out. It might only be a few more years and he is a very young man.” Melbourne was joking, and Victoria’s flare of anger surprised him.

“That is not funny, William, and I will not listen,” she snapped. “You go too far.”

Melbourne agreed. He lived with the sure knowledge that he was so much older than his young wife he was destined to far predecease her, and as he had done with most hard truths in his life, met it with dark humor to conceal the pain.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, lifting her hand and kissing it. “Back to Palmerston. I want to catch him at home because I need to be sure Emily isn’t involved. I must make it clear to her, whether or not he hears me, that I will not tolerate anything that threatens to bring disrepute on you, however indirectly. Or on your government.”

“Do you think – and I’m asking because I genuinely don’t know – that we should see them together? Invite them to dine _en famile_ and speak to them together? I don’t want to put you in the middle of family unpleasantness without being at your side. You don’t have to fight my battles for me, you know.” Victoria squeezed his hand, holding it between both of hers on her lap.

Melbourne considered her question. “I thank you for the sentiment, and I appreciate it. In this case, because the trouble stems from his partisan adventuring when he was in my government, I believe it is my mess to clean up. If indeed there is a mess. Recall I’ve told you previously that if Henry ends up back in government – which, at the rate Peel is alienating his own supporters, might be sooner rather than later – he will require a short leash and a firm hand?”

“I do, but Lord Palmerston is so charming. I quite like him and I thought you did too. He was a good friend to us when we needed friends.” Victoria looked up at Melbourne quizzically and he thought that in many ways she remained the naïve young girl who wore her heart on her sleeve.

“You always had a fondness for him, didn’t you, my girl?” His lips twitched in a small smile. “Remember also how many times I’ve told you that who you like and don’t like does not matter? Very likeable people can be most troublesome, and you must be prepared to set aside your feelings when you need to. Conversely, very unlikeable people can be most useful and then too, you must set aside your feelings and act on what people _do_ or _don’t do_ , and not how you feel.”

Melbourne saw her attention rapt on him as he spoke, concentrating so intently he knew she was committing his words to memory. It touched him deeply, that after all these years she still looked upon him as mentor, teacher, most trusted adviser. If he accepted that role, then surely no one, not even Aristotle, had the privilege of shaping a more magnificent soverign, destined to transform her island nation into an empire.

“Adieu, ma’am. I will dine in town, with your permission, and return in time to fall asleep during the whist games.” Melbourne bent over hand and lingered overlong, his lips on her soft white hand.

_Kennedia: Mental beaut_ y


	11. Chapter 11

Lilac

 

After they parted Victoria started and scratched out multiple attempts at writing to her uncle. When she was alerted that Louis-Phillipe and the Duke of Montpensier were about, she pushed away her concerns and joined them on a long ride through the Great Park. Louis-Phillipe’s youngest son was a young man of nineteen, long overshadowed by his elder brothers. He was quite devastatingly handsome, Victoria thought, with an unassuming, whimsical air that appealed to her. She did her best to draw him out in the avuncular style of a much-older sister or aunt. The word ‘cousin’ had first occurred, but she dismissed it out of hand due to the connotations that particular relationship held in her extended family.

Antoine was the younger brother of Victoria’s Aunt Louise, Queen of the Belgians, of whom she was very fond. How convoluted it all was, this business of royals marrying royals, she thought, making this young man actually some sort of uncle to _her_.

The air was crisp and the forest all around blazed with fall color. Victoria grew restless with the walking pace of their horses and challenged the young Duke and his father to a race. King Louis-Phillipe demurred, nodding encouragingly to his son and the young prince nudged his own horse forward to quickly draw even with Victoria. The two animals cantered neck and neck down the winding paths of the ancient forest, Victoria laughing gaily as she tried to gain the advantage on each bend. Antoine reached the designated clearing just a nose ahead of the Queen and she drew up short, laughingly chastising him.

“You, sir, are no diplomat. It would have been _politik_ to let the Queen win.”

“You, Madame, I think have no patience with _diplomacy._ You are too honest. I see it in your eyes.” Victoria stopped laughing and grew quiet, suddenly wishing Lord M was at hand.

“I prefer honesty, it is true. I find it so much easier than dissembling. And this time I will _honestly_ beat you.” She wheeled her horse around and took off at least a length ahead of him, maintaining her lead until they rejoined the King of France.

They continued on, conversing lightly and with great amiability, Victoria and the Duke riding on either side of his father.

Louis-Phillipe startled Victoria by requesting to accompany her to the nursery when they returned. It should have come as no surprise that a father of ten children would take some interest in children, but Victoria found herself quite pleased all the same. The King sat at the low table where Prince William worked and discussed with him the book he was reading from.

“Not even four years old and reads for himself! Baroness, I am most impressed with your diligence.” The normally dour face of Baroness Lehzen flushed with pleasure.

“Thank you, Your Majesty, but I deserve no praise. It is all due His Royal Highness. I’ve never known such a child with such a bright, inquiring mind. Not even his mother, and Drina excelled at everything I put before her.”

“Lehzen, you are too modest. You did not come to me until I was five or I am sure you would have me reading sooner as well.” Victoria smiled fondly at the older woman.

“Both children healthy. Even your little princess, who arrived amidst such horror.” The King had risen and was admiring the infant Victoria held.

“Princess Lilli is quite healthy, for which we are thankful. She may never be overlarge but I have learned to adapt to my lack of inches. For all those who think I am a dwarf, I find bowing compensates quite nicely.”

Louis-Phillipe laughed gaily. “There have been no children from your second marriage. Do you anticipate…?” Victoria gazed at him sternly.

“If the Almighty does not chose to send any we are quite content with the two we have.” She looked at him levelly, until she was tolerably certain he understood.

“Ahhhh. I am sure your people are delighted with their _English_ heirs. When I lived among you there was already much suspicion of too much German blood infiltrating the monarchy.”

“Quite.” Victoria answered him crisply, putting a period to the conversation. She handed the princess to a nursery maid. “Shall we join the Household? My mother has offered to take you through some of the galleries at Windsor. She has made a study of the history of the Palace and the contributions of each of my predecessors.” Victoria led the way out.

“It must have been a disappointment to your uncle, losing his nephew so young, after having expended so much effort on his behalf.” The King said conversationally as they traveled the corridor en route to the formal drawing room.

“Albert’s death was a shock to us all, of course.”

“And his reaction to your remarriage so soon after losing the Prince consort?” Victoria was shocked at his persistent intrusion and showed her annoyance as best she could.

“My uncle is very fond of me and has known Lord Melbourne a long time. Prince Albert liked Lord M a great deal and would be pleased to know he is looking out for us. Rather than, say, another _dynastic_ marriage, which would have completely overshadowed the contributions he made during the short time we were married.”

Victoria walked as briskly as she could and was quite satisfied to hear the much-older monarch huffing slightly in his determination to keep up.

“You make a good point, Victoria. History will remember the Prince Consort and the advancements he encouraged in the arts and sciences. And, of course, the son that he left to inherit the throne. One wonders whether your second marriage will be only a footnote.”

Victoria ordered a bath be made ready before she dressed for dinner. She was heartily sick of her obligations as hostess of a fellow sovereign, and would take as much time as she could to regroup so long as she had a plausible excuse for her absence.

Her dresser made the water as hot as she could bear it, and added scented oil. Victoria’s bedchamber was still laden with the beautiful, heavily fragrant Indian jasmine and Skerrett floated some of the petals in the water as well, releasing even more of their sensual perfume. The heat of the water caressing her limbs was relaxing, inviting a pleasant languor, and Victoria wished her husband was home already so they could have time together before the evening began. Thinking of William, imagining what they could do if he were waiting in her chamber, caused a flush to rise from her neck to her cheeks, and she determinedly pushed those longings away. Thinking of the impertinence of Louis-Phillipe’s probing and inappropriate questions, in believing he could hide behind a charming manner and light-hearted tone, proved an effective distraction.

From that, her mind went to Lord Aberdeen’s visit and the unfortunate aftermath. Victoria understood that her husband did not like confrontation and was perhaps not as firm as he might be, and she wished once more she could have spared him what would surely be an unpleasant discussion with his dear sister and her husband. As much as she idolized him, Victoria sensed that already she was made of sterner stuff, for there were far fewer people for whom she cared and she had little hesitation in being _quite_ firm with everyone else. Nor did she care whether a great many people were personally fond of her, so long as they never failed to respect her. Victoria didn’t consider this a virtue in herself, or a flaw in her husband. If anything it was probably the reverse, she considered. She had always been an extremely impulsive and hot-tempered child and struggled as an adult, under Lord M’s tutelage, to temper at least some of those tendencies.

Victoria had delayed choosing a gown and jewels to wear for dinner, anticipating – hoping – that William would bring back some flower she could wear as a corsage. She was disappointed that he did not arrive as she sat in her chemise and dressing gown, having her hair arranged, but brightened when a page brought in a small box with the distinctive imprint of Kew Gardens and a card in his familiar slanting hand.

Nancy Skerrett, by necessity confidant as well as dresser, enjoyed the game and looked forward nearly as much as her mistress to the floral offerings sent and received and the hidden messages they conveyed. Victoria opened the box and was greeted by a heady fragrance wafting up to compete with the jasmine in the air. That scent immediately took her back to Melbourne Hall in the spring, and the rooms full of blooms Billy Cameron had gathered for Emily Temple, his hostess – although they all knew, of course, who they were really intended for. She smiled, bringing the branch up to her nose so she could inhale more deeply. White lilacs,  _those harbingers of summer_ , Victoria remembered Emily telling her.

“It won’t due for a corsage, ma’am, but it is a wonderful sentiment.” Skerrett held up the book, having already found the page.

“Then we will honor it with our choice of jewels nonetheless,” Victoria said. “The new taffeta, please. White diamonds, no color. My dress will be all the color I need.”

Skerrett lifted the stiffened changeable taffeta over her head and arranged the deep, off-shoulder bodice attractively. It was a deep violet hue that darkened her hair and eyes attractively and lent her complexion a near-pearly sheen. Victoria chose a deceptively simple necklace, laying close to her neck with 28 stones increasing in size from that of a marble to a robin’s egg, and the most magnificent of all hanging down pendant-like. No obvious setting disrupted the fire they flashed from all sides, reflecting the saturated purple of her gown. Skerrett deftly fastened the hidden clasp and set in place the  matching earrings and tiara.

“How do I look, Skerrett? Do you think Lord M will be pleased with me?”

“Ma’am, I _know_ His Lordship will be pleased with your appearance. You look especially beautiful tonight. He is _always_ pleased with you.” The woman lowered her eyes, suddenly shy at her own boldness, and busied herself clearing away the tools of her craft.

Victoria asked her to fetch a sheet of paper she’d left in her private study, the watercolor image of a wildflower she’d painstakingly copied from the book. She propped it beside the box he’d sent her and only then turned over his card.

“Lord Melbourne regrets he will be unable to dine at Windsor tonight. He hopes to return before morning. If he is unable, he will spend the night in town. With love – M”

She was both irritated and slightly concerned and tried to tamp down both feelings. _Mama had said I must not keep him on a leash...but where had that advice landed us?_

Pushing aside her trepidation, Victoria went to join her guests.

The evening was rather less arduous, more enjoyable, than she anticipated. Louis-Phillipe was smilingly attentive and eager to please, as though his earlier impudence had never happened. Antoine, once he came out of his shell, was every bit the charmer his father was, more so since he lacked the King’s subtly calculating air – the natural consequence of having lived by his wits alone for so long, Victoria conceded. Those Ladies of her Household present – Catherine Murray, Carolina Edgecumbe, Elizabeth Wellesley and especially Charlotte Canning – did an admirable job entertaining their French visitors and even Sarah Lyttleton, as fussy and breathless as she was wont to be contributed her mite. Victoria was able to enjoy a leisurely conversation with young Antoine and ended the evening feeling as though they understood each other tolerably well.

The Duchess of Kent solicited her usual partners for a game of whist and Antoine convinced Victoria to sing whilst he accompanied her on the piano. He paged through the sheet music until he found a novel piece that intrigued him and at the first few bars Victoria recognized it instantly from Albert’s salons. A lovely piece, a poem set to music arranged by one of his gentlemen, and Victoria had instantly taken to it in those dark days after her marriage when faith alone sustained her, faith that her Lord M would return.

After that, Edward joined in, producing other arrangements by the same composer and lyricist and took over for Victoria, singing the words in his charming contralto. The three young people were so engrossed in their music they did not notice when the Queen Mother’s card game dispersed, and only she and the King were left, standing to one side watching their offspring.

“Mama!” Victoria suddenly noticed that they were nearly alone. “I hope you were entertaining our other guests. I’m afraid the Duke and I were quite caught up in playing.”

Victoire, herself seemingly enchanted by the French King, only nodded agreeably. “The King and I were quite caught up in your playing too, Drina. Your Highness, you and my daughter play well together. She and Albert likewise would play duets to entertain us.”

Victoria blushed without knowing why and suddenly felt irritated by her mother’s insistence on bringing Albert into every conversation, or so it seemed to her just then. She rose and quite by accident caught a glimpse of the figure standing quietly across the room.

Melbourne had been leaning insouciantly against a column, and only straightened when Victoria saw him. As she approached, he swept a deep bow.

“Lord M! I quite gave up expecting you.”

“You got on quite well without me, I see. I only looked in to let you know I’d returned. Please don’t let me interrupt your evening.” Melbourne smiled sleepily, his drawling tones caressing her as they always did. Victoria reached out a hand before checking herself.

“Oh, no, the evening is breaking up. Everyone else has already left. I will only say good night to the King and his son. Please, wait and walk with me.”

“You look exceptionally fine tonight, ma’am,” Melbourne said, as they walked back to their private apartments. “Was there an occasion to warrant it that I overlooked?”

Victoria laughed a little. “Not at all. Only…I hoped to dress to please _you_ , if you had returned in time to join us.”

Melbourne stopped her before she could send a page to fetch her maid. “Allow me to enjoy looking at you before you retire.” Victoria raised a brow inquisitively at his choice of words.

“Is something amiss? How did your talk with Lord Palmerston go?” Victoria watched him pour several fingers of brandy into a glass for himself. She was a bit surprised when he wagged the decanter in her direction, for she never took strong spirits. Curious, she nodded. “Yes, please, I will join you.” He handed her a glass containing considerably more than she knew she could drink, and without waiting for her to be seated, sank into an armchair. Victoria hesitated, then sat on the edge of the chair nearest him.

“Oh, as well as could be expected, ma’am. Not terribly pleasant, nor terribly unpleasant. Henry loves me dearly but has never much respected me, and that won’t change now. I’ve known him since we were boys at Eton, you know. We have endured much together. He reminds me that my tale is told, while his is yet to be sung.” Victoria listened, unsure whether he was truly addressing her, or merely speaking his thoughts out loud. He met her eyes and smiled bleakly. “Don’t mind me, my dear. Perhaps I should have stayed in town and spared you my glum mood. It’s no pleasant thing for a man to be told that he’s no longer relevant, that his opinions no longer hold weight.”

“ _Palmerston_ told you that? William, no, I don’t believe it. He _wouldn’t_.” Melbourne seemed to truly see her for the first time that evening, and his expression softened at the outrage she displayed on his behalf.

“Oh, he didn’t. He would not be so crass, or so cruel either for that matter. “’Sun-flower’,” he murmured apropos of nothing, it seemed. Victoria tilted her head questioningly.

“Something he wrote as a young man. Do you want to hear it?” Victoria nodded slowly.

 

>   "' _It is not, while beauty and youth are thine own,_
> 
>   _And thy cheeks unprofan’ed by a tear,_
> 
> _That the fervour of faith of a soul can be known,_
> 
> _To which time will but make thee more dear!_
> 
> _Oh! the heart that has truly loved, never forgets,_
> 
> _But as truly loves on to the close,_
> 
> _As the sun-flower turns on her god, when he sets,_
> 
> _The same look which she turn’d when he rose.’”_  

“It seemed apt. He can have all the rest, as long as I have you. And that I think is the point he wanted me to take.”

Victoria frowned, wanting to go to him, wondering whether to offer comfort or support or distraction from his melancholy. As he so often did, he appeared to read her thoughts. He set down the glass he held and opened his arms.

“Don’t let the musings of an old man concern you, ma’am. My mood will run its course and all will be well.”

Victoria went to him as soon as he beckoned, sitting on his lap and twining her arm around his neck. “Don’t call yourself _old_ , William. Please. I dislike that. You are _not_ old.”

His lips twisted into a bitter smile. “Oh but I am, my little sun-flower. Will you still look at me just _so_ at the close?”

Melbourne dismissed her, lovingly it was true, and with great gentleness, but _dismissed_ her nonetheless, Victoria thought as she went alone into her dressing room. It was the first time since he’d returned from Brocket Hall that he did not retire with her, and Victoria felt adrift climbing into bed alone. She stayed awake listening to the small sounds from his apartment to reassure her he was at least present, before finally drifting off. Her sleep was unsettled until sometime far into the night, when she felt him beside her. He folded himself against her back, wrapped an arm around her and lay his cheek against her so she felt his breath warm her skin. Then finally, she could relax into sleep.

_Lilac, White: Majesty, Purity, Innocence_


	12. Chapter 12

_Mignonette_

Melbourne awoke well before Victoria. No strange dreams had disturbed his rest, but the dull throb of a headache pulled him out of slumber. He suppressed the groan which rose in his throat, along with an unpleasant surge of bile. Morning head, reminding him how much he had drank the evening before, gradual intake over an extended period having disguised the worst of immediate effects. But then he had emptied a bottle in his own apartment and… _ugh, it’s been a long time since I faced the day with this unpleasant a morning-after._

He glanced at Victoria sleeping peacefully, one hand tucked under her cheek in a gesture so like that of the child she’d so recently been. He hadn’t bothered undressing before finding his way to her bed, at least he’d retained that much restraint. Better if he’d fallen asleep in his chair, in his own apartment, but seemingly he couldn’t stay away even when he knew it was the wisest, the gentleman’s, course.

He saw the watercolor Victoria had left propped on her dressing table and picked it up with a soft smile. The purple flower was an excellent depiction – she had been well taught in the refinements expected of a young lady, no matter how deficient her education in the more scholarly disciplines – but she had carefully lettered a caption beneath. “ _Lucerne – Life_.” He pressed it to his lips, and carried it with him to his own apartment.

When Melbourne entered the breakfast room, feeling better for a hot bath and fresh shave and looking forward to the restorative effects of coffee, Louis-Phillipe was the only one present. The King greeted Melbourne genially and waved a hand toward the dishes on the sideboard.

“Your English breakfasts,” he said with an exaggerated shudder. “I myself take nothing at this uncivilized time of day.”

“I myself prefer only coffee today.” Melbourne poured for himself, waving off the servant standing at attention.

“The ladies are preparing for church and my son will not rise until much later. Young men seem to run on a different rhythm than men our age. As you will find out when you too have to look up to address your son.”

“That will be some time in the future. He has quite a way to grow.”

“I long since thought ten children quite enough for any man, but when I see you with your son I think it would be perhaps nice to have one more little one. Now I am at a stage in my life when I could involve myself more fully in fatherhood. Of course, my wife is well past child-bearing age. Lord Melbourne, you are a fortunate man. Life does not often give second chances.”

“I am indeed, Your Highness,” Melbourne said noncommittally, using his most suave courtier’s inflection.

“I must thank you – and Her Majesty, of course – for your hospitality. This visit was important, I think, to cement the friendship, if not between our governments, then at least between sovereigns. Our two nations are the greatest on earth and it is important we maintain amity. We are both too strong to do otherwise.”

Melbourne thought of the naval assessment he’d commissioned during his ministry, comparing line by line the resources Britain and France had. His Minister of War had harangued endlessly on the need for funding sufficient to maintain parity, if not superiority, with the only other great naval power. An island nation could never risk complacency and the numbers he’d seen showed them at risk of falling well behind France in a hypothetical sea war, while on land they’d be significantly outmanned. He wondered whether Louis-Phillipe had seen similar estimates. Of course he had – war planning was an essential responsibility of any nation.

“I couldn’t agree more, Your Majesty.” Melbourne sipped coffee, inhaling the steam along with the rich scent of dark Jamaica beans.

“Please – here you may call me by my name. I am in your home, after all.”

“So have you accomplished all you hoped to on this trip?” Melbourne asked, genuinely curious.

“This visit has been most informative. When one must rely on the impressions – the _opinions­ –_ of others, information is necessarily filtered through the biases of your informants.”

“For example…?” Melbourne’s posture was the opposite of alert;  his long legs stretched out in front of him, his shoulders back and down, the picture of languid ease, and his eyes hooded, almost sleepy. It was, of course, the guise he wore when he was focused most intently.

Louis-Phillipe mirrored his body language, his lined still-handsome features composed, smiling, friendly. He spread his hands wide.

“For example,” Melbourne drawled. “The Queen and I are happily married? She is a fiercely independent woman when questions of her sovereignty are concerned, and is not under the sway of any minister…or myself?”

Louis-Phillipe laughed heartily. “You are blunt. I forget it is the English way. It is true, some speculate that your marriage will not last, and others that – forgive me, sir – _you_ might not last. Of course, men our age are consistently viewed as having one foot in the grave.”

“And I am to understand that you do not share either view?” Melbourne tilted his head beguilingly, quite enjoying this tête-à-tête.

“I felicitate you on your conjugal happiness, which is apparent to any man of the world. Marriage is never easy when it is based on love. So much better to marry as a business arrangement than to bring emotions into it, of course, but the heart wants what it wants and if I understand your situation tolerably well, when the Prince Consort was so unexpectedly killed, you and Her Majesty had no choice but to marry.” Melbourne said nothing; it was, after all, an accurate assessment.

“Leopold’s hopes were all pinned on his nephew and when Her Majesty was duly delivered of a healthy son within a year of the marriage, the King of the Belgians must have seen the fulfilment of all his dynastic ambitions. As long as Albert was alive I’m sure your wife’s uncle must have been content to allow his niece whatever _personal arrangements_ she wished. It would matter little as long as the Royal family was doubly his line in the eyes of the world.”

“You seem to have given the matter of Her Majesty’s marriage some thought.”

“We are both men of the world, Lord Melbourne – William, if I may? – and can speak frankly, I hope. It is of no concern to me and I am the last person in the world to cast aspersions, so please do not take anything I say amiss. Leopold is my son-in-law; he wished an alliance with France, so married my Louise. He wished an alliance with England, and has his niece on the throne, and, if not his nephew, then his nephew’s son in line to inherit. That leaves only –“ Louis-Phillipe paused and looked his meaning at Melbourne.

“Spain,” Melbourne said flatly. Louis-Phillipe beamed, as though at a star pupil.

“Precisely.”

“And you, Your Majesty? What is your ambition? What do you hope for in this interminable game of thrones?” Melbourne poured more coffee for himself and the King, giving the other man an opportunity to decide how he wished to answer. This was the crux of the issue for Melbourne; European dynastic gambits were as old as civilization in the West. His own interests were more personal.

“I brought my son along so your wife could meet him and form, hopefully, a positive impression of him. If the young people can learn to be friends, it smooths the way later when governments seek to dictate terms amongst monarchs.”

Melbourne laughed, a not unpleasant sound.

“That is indeed frank, Your Majesty. Please., continue. To what end did you wish my wife and your son to establish a friendship? Are you anticipating my demise? His Highness is a very young man and can afford to wait me out?”

Louis-Phillipe chuckled in unison. “I see we speak plainly. That did occur to me, yes. Young men need to sow their wild oats, so the American expression goes, and your Victoria is only five years older than he is. She will be a young woman still – “ His mobile features schooled themselves into a more sober expression. “ – when she is widowed, forgive me for saying so. But as a tolerable judge of women, as soon as I saw her with you that plan went – _pfft_.” He snapped his fingers. “I don’t think she would readily consider remarriage. You are to be congratulated indeed. Your wife looks at you with so much love I feel quite unmanned in her presence. As my son does, although in his case the rebuff to his ego can only do him good. And in my experience, if a woman finds her first happiness with an older man, she does not then look to a boy younger than she is. I would hold out more hope for my own prospects than Antoine’s, if I did not have a decade on you.”

“Perhaps we have exceeded the limits of even _frankness_ amongst gentlemen, Your Majesty. Could we now change the subject to what you _do_ hope to gain?”

“Only friendship, Lord Melbourne. I mean that most sincerely. The King of the Belgians and I have one thing in common. We were both put on our thrones, _made_ into Kings, by the people and those same people can discharge us or worse at any time. I do not blame Leopold for his strategies. I learned to survive living by my wits, earning my own way through the world –  I could tell you stories that would shock even you perhaps – and I can not blame a fellow survivor for doing whatever it takes to keep a grip on power by any means he can. So on the one hand, we have a schemer, and on the other – France has enemies here, Lord Melbourne, men who will demonize my country at every opportunity. I must make alliances where I can to offset that and keep myself secure. I ask only the hand of friendship, monarch to monarch.” Louis-Phillipe held out his hand, quite literally, inviting Melbourne to shake it. Instead Melbourne pretended not to notice and occupied himself folding the napkin into creative shapes. He looked up at the King.

“And your son? Where does he come into it? Why did you say you hoped for him to forge a friendship with my wife, after you abandoned whatever early hopes you might have had in that direction?” Louis-Phillipe only looked at Melbourne, his expression benign.

“Ah…I see. But you are aware of course that in England – as it is in France now – our governments make foreign policy. Surely you know that there are many in both parties who would consider the match you hope for akin to a declaration of war?”

“I do. And while I understand the limitations to the Queen’s authority, I also do not underestimate the _influence_ which can be brought to bear by a very popular sovereign. Dare I hope for a promise of friendship from your Queen? And yourself, of course, for I do not underestimate the influence you still have amongst your former colleagues, even your family.”

“Your Majesty, I do not speak for my wife.”

“But your opinion, your feelings, are of course important to her. I think it was always that way, since she ascended the Throne, that she listened to no advisor but you?”

“’Listen’, perhaps, but Victoria chooses her own path and it does not always align with the _opinions_ I may have shared. Nor do I expect it to. I hope the Queen will allow no man to sway her. But I must point out how perilous what you have in mind would be for all concerned. If you seek to marry your son to Queen Isabella, it will be a matter of the gravest concern.”

“Nothing has been discussed as of yet. They are both very young and as long as there is no other marriage prospect on the horizon we have no reason to force the issue. And who knows? Either or both may form strong attachments elsewhere. But if it appears that England backs another candidate, France will likewise view it as a matter of the gravest concern.”

“Neither our government nor the Queen has any intention of interfering. And my wife is not advised by any foreign power, including her uncle. She understands her duty to remain impartial in the matter of foreign policy.”

“There are ties of affection, family bonds, which do not always bow to expediency or duty, however. Can you assure me that is not so in this case?”

“Your Majesty, Victoria has natural family feeling toward her uncle but he has never influenced her, not from her earliest days on the throne. She has always been conscious of the necessity of setting clear boundaries with him in all their communication.”

“I am glad to hear it. And can you assure me likewise that your own family connection, Lord Palmerston, likewise understands where his duty lies and will not conspire with Leopold against our interests?”

Melbourne raised an eyebrow and narrowed his eyes.

“I believe you might be misinformed, sir. I can assure you I will do my utmost to stem any attempt on his part – _if any such is made,_ which I find it difficult to believe – to involve himself in Leopold’s ambitions to place another Coburg prince on another throne.”

“Or in another royal bed, eh?” The King of France laughed at his own sally and rose, seemingly satisfied. He held out his hand once more, and this time Melbourne took it.

* * *

 

The final Sunday of the French visit passed quietly and unremarkably. The King and his entourage pleaded the excuse of an early departure to retire shortly after dinner, and Victoria and Melbourne likewise excused themselves to the rest of the Household while a card game was underway.

“I am pleased you are willing to accompany me, Lord M,” Victoria whispered conspiratorially as they walked swiftly down the corridor leading to the private apartments. She looked around her and seeing no one save the usual pages and guards, slid her hand into his as they walked. When they had reached the doorway to Melbourne’s suite she pulled him inside and as soon as the door closed, wrapped her arms around his waist.

“I’ve missed you!” She said, resting her forehead on his chest. Melbourne held her close and kissed the top of her head.

“Missed me? Where have I been?”

“All day – all week – always someone around. I am ready for us to be alone again.”

“Well, if by ‘alone’ you mean several hundred servants, your mother, a dozen ladies-in-waiting….” He laughed. “But I take your meaning and agree. Somehow it’s easier to ignore people one sees every day.”

“Sit with me?” Victoria asked hopefully. “You won’t send me away again?”

Melbourne grimaced. “I never send you away, ma’am. But yes. I can tell you about the talk I had with His Majesty. Quite interesting, both the content and the fact that he chose to have it at all.”

Melbourne sat in a corner of the sofa and lifted his arm so Victoria could lean against him. She listened carefully as he recounted the morning’s conversation.

“So Uncle Leopold thinks to marry my cousin Leopold to the Queen of Spain? He reaches high.”

“No higher than he did when he married another cousin to the Queen of England,” Melbourne retorted smoothly.

She shook her head and permitted herself a small smile when she saw him picking up the watercolor she’d painted for him the previous day.  

“Lovely choice, but rather profound. Will you tell me why you chose it?” Victoria lifted her chin and met his eyes.

“Because you are my life,” she said in a near-whisper. Melbourne inclined his head, studying her. “Why do you look at me so? Do you think me very foolish?”

“You? Never. Why do _you_ look at me so?” His lips twitched in one of the small smiles that he saved for her alone.

“Because you are the most beautiful man I have ever seen,’ Victoria said with the frankness he adored.

“I am pleased you think so, ma’am, although I’m not sure I’ve been called beautiful before. It must be my new coat. I will make certain to reward my tailor well.”

“Now you tease me, Lord M. I have always thought you the most attractive man in the world and I am sure I have told you so. Why did you rise so early? You did not come to bed until very late.”

“Because I was most certainly not the most beautiful man in the world when I awoke. Excessive drinking has some unpleasant after-effects.” Melbourne stroked Victoria’s cheek, pushing her long hair back.

“Did you enjoy yourself at least?” She was so endearingly young and innocent, Melbourne thought.

“Men generally don’t drink to excess because they’re enjoying themselves, no matter what they might tell themselves and each other at the time. Especially when they have very good reasons not to.”

Victoria was nonplussed. “Oh, well then I am sorry for it. You did not seem – you seemed as though something was troubling you when you returned.”

“I was in a foul mood, but nothing to concern you. Such moods come on all men sometimes, me more than most perhaps. I was best left to my own devices, my love. In fact, I probably should have stayed in town as I planned and spared you my ill humor. I certainly should have stayed in my own rooms and spared you my presence during the night but somehow…I am not able to stay away despite my good intentions.”

“Surely there is a better way to discharge such moods than making yourself ill with drink. If you had come to my bed instead I could have taken your mind off of whatever troubled you.” Melbourne saw the innocence shining through her attempt at seductiveness, and certain dark thoughts passed through his mind.

“No,” he said, more firmly than he intended. “I will not visit my tempers on you, Victoria. That is a side of me you will not see.”

“Temper? You? William, you are the most amiable of men, and the most gentle of lovers.” Melbourne saw the essential innocence in her face that touched him so, and cursed himself for being unworthy of such adoration.

 “You have so much experience of men and…lovers then?” His lips twitched with wanting to laugh, but he maintained a solemn expression, cupping her cheek in his hand. “I can’t always be in a good mood, but I will spare you the alternative and I will never come to you when I’m feeling disagreeable and unsettled. You are my wife, ma’am, and I owe you my protection, even from me. Now –“ he smacked her derriere playfully with an open hand. “I will call your maid. When you are undressed, I will join you if I may? I would like very much to sleep with my wife tonight, Mrs. Melbourne. _Sans_ strong spirts and foul moods.”

When he entered her bedchamber, Victoria was sitting up in bed, her face radiant in the candlelight, her long hair streaming over her shoulders. She was looking at the wildflower bouquet on her night table, smiling, tears shining in her eyes.

“Victoria,” he murmured huskily.  “Mrs. Melbourne.” She looked up, inquiring.

“You remembered! You – you thought of me while you were in town. Thank you. What are they called?”

“Mignonette. Of course I thought of you. I never don’t think of you. At present, I am reminding myself how very fortunate I am.” Victoria slid over and pulled back the bedcovers, inviting him. He settled himself beside her and showed her what he was carrying, a small printed pamphlet.

 “I thought you might find this amusing,” he said. “Particularly given your affinity for the Party.”

“’The New Whig Guide,’” She read aloud. “’Viscount Henry John Temple Palmerston, John Wilson Croker, Robert Peel.’”

“A lampoon only, so don’t take it too seriously and for Heaven’s sake don’t bring it up to Peel. But I think you will derive some amusement. Or, we can read it together in bed. That seems a rather fitting use for their literary efforts, that I use it to seduce my wife.”

Victoria paged through it, her eyes landing here and there on random passages, until she saw a name she recognized.

“Lord Byron?” She questioned skeptically.

“Well, yes, but then we can’t hope to purge all trace of those whose existence might trouble us. And they do parody his more pretentious works, which I confess to finding especially droll. If you permit I will read some of those particular sonnets to you while I hold you and if the shade of Byron is summoned I can taunt him with the treasure I have.”

Melbourne summarized his encounter with Palmerston on the subject of the letter from Leopold. Most noteworthy was that he seemed surprised it had been intercepted; he admitted with frankness that he hadn’t detected any sign it had been opened. Otherwise, he casually handed the original to Melbourne and, most infuriatingly, displayed no acknowledgment that the former Prime Minister and current spouse of the sovereign might take offense at his correspondence. The interview went nowhere after that and Melbourne conceded he had no stomach for an open breach with his sister’s husband. Now he re-evaluated that decision. If Palmerston, out of office, was conspiring to marry a candidate of Leopold’s to the Spanish Queen, how much more trouble could he cause once the Whigs were back in power?

_Mignonette: Your qualities surpass your charms_


	13. Chapter 13

_Tuberose_

Melbourne had spent most of the afternoon and evening in Pall Mall, strolling down St. James, stopping to talk with his many acquaintances, looking in at Brooks. He had an engagement to dine at the Reform Club with Palmerston and a core group of his closest friends. With the opening of Parliament imminent, London was full of familiar faces hailing him from carriages, on horseback and walking. Ellice, Uxbridge and Minto were already waiting for him in the private bespoke dining room that Edward Ellice, the founder, had commandeered. Palmerston came in soon after the first round had been poured, greeting Melbourne with unfeigned affection and the others with his usual bonhomie.

Etiquette and longstanding friendship among the men both dictated that inquiries about the health and well-being of one’s family be gotten out of the way first, and Melbourne was relieved to note relatively little fumbling when his turn came around. He referred to Victoria only in the personal – my wife, _she_ – and omitted any honorific to draw a clear line between his spouse and their sovereign. Even so, he was acutely aware that his eyes moistened and his voice softened when her name came up, and grateful that his friends pretended not to notice.

A good part of the conversation centered on Peel’s probable legislative agenda for the coming year, and that man’s increasing drift away from his own base of Conservatives. While it greatly pleased the Whigs, they speculated on how long he would be able to continue his ideological slide into liberalism and still hang onto his Ministry.

“I don’t see that the factory reforms had much in them to distress the ruling classes, but the Cits are where the wealth is now held,” Melbourne opined, as much to stir up debate as from any real strongly held belief. It was an unpleasant truth they all acknowledged.

“He would not have carried the Factory Reform Bill without Shaftesbury's support,” Lord Minto put in, raising discussion to a higher pitch as each man weighed in on whether Peel had always been a secret reformer after the fashion of his father, or if he was changing his views midstream.

“It’s a damn dishonest thing, if a man turns his back on his friends over some vague notion of social welfare. Leave the poor alone. In Ireland it’s a swamp that will never be drained. Despite his criticism of you, Melbourne, the day he took office he saw that there is no improving that lot. Brougham can rant and rave as he will. The truest thing Peel said was that was it was desirable to delay and see which way the truth settles.”

“Are you sure that was Peel, William? It sounds more like something you would say,” Palmerston said, the first to laugh at his own wit.

“The office makes the man, Henry. Something I suspect you will discover for yourself someday if you have your way,” Melbourne retorted smoothly.

Their conversation otherwise ranged far and wide, like any men of middle years who had known each other since adolescence. When talk touched on their families, wives, children, second wives, grandchildren and the web of interconnection between prominent Whig families Melbourne listened and offered nothing himself until one of them – Ellice, rather than Palmerston as he’d expected – casually raised the subject of Melbourne’s marriage. He only did so in a jesting tone, remarking that since Melbourne had long resisted all attempts at matchmaking it came as a surprise to everyone when the announcement came, a _fait accompli_. At that Palmerston raised an eyebrow and not subtly pantomimed utter disbelief. The ice broken, questions were asked and the sort of jocular comments made which were common among men when one of them takes a young second wife. Melbourne bore up well, and only a close observer might note the softening of his tone, the dampness in the corner of his eyes, when he spoke of his wife and accepted compliments on her behalf. As long as she was discussed as a woman and his wife and not as sovereign, he was secretly pleased, even giddy as a schoolboy, at hearing her name.

The evening passed in a pleasant mood of camaraderie Melbourne knew must necessarily end when he invited Palmerston in for a nightcap. The house was dimly lit and redolent of poor housekeeping and bachelor habits and as he told himself he really must discharge the reprobates who called themselves house servants. Without oversight, they were both expensive and indolent. One or the other he might have tolerated, but both in combination were rather much. Tom Young had been staying in the house, keeping his calendar, maintaining his correspondence and handling day-to-day matters related to the Arts Commission. Other business of his own as well, Melbourne was reckoned, preferring not to look too closely. Tom was a rough fellow, who had served Melbourne well as personal secretary and general factotum since his time in the Home Office. Melbourne knew him to be impudent, resourceful, utterly loyal with the manner and appearance of a pit bull. He kept all his underworld ties, and was most comfortable at a bear baiting or gin mill surrounded by pimps and pickpockets. Melbourne valued him at his worth and trusted him completely.

Tom was entertaining, based on the rumble of deep voices and thick blue cloud of tobacco smoke emanating from the back of the house. Melbourne ushered Palmerston directly into his library.

Their conversation was brief and to the point, and as uncomfortable as it was for Melbourne to speak as directly and harshly as he did, he found he was tapping into a deep well of latent anger at the other man’s consistent, near-contemptuous disregard of his wishes. Palmerston attempted to joke him out of his anger, and then to assuage him by reminding him – sincerely, Melbourne knew – that he loved him like a brother.

“That you love me, I have no doubt. But do you respect me?” he retorted bluntly. The ultimatum he gave him was simple – so long as he held no official office, the expectation – from government, Crown and from Melbourne himself – was that Palmerston would refrain from meddling in international affairs. All contact with the King of the Belgians and any other foreign power was to stop. Melbourne laid out the relevant laws concerning such activities, and warned him that Peel’s Ministry, Aberdeen in particular, was beyond any hope of tolerance after intercepting Leopold’s most recent letter. He avoided giving voice to the word which was on both their tongues; Palmerston did not.

“What are you saying, William? Spit it out. Are you suggesting my activities could be viewed as treasonous? Treason to the Crown?” Palmerston’s tone was incredulous, tinged with contempt. Melbourne looked at him without answering. “The _Crown_ is your wife. I am your sister’s husband. I think the word ‘treason’ would not apply here. _You_ would not permit it.”

“Don’t bet on it, Henry. It would grieve me deeply but I will not have Victoria’s reign tainted by any hint of conspiracy. For God’s sake, man, if you’re going to conspire with anyone and play at alliances, do it with anyone except her own uncle. You have to see that would drag her name into it.”

They parted, if not reconciled, then without open hostility but Palmerston kept his arrogance and Melbourne his resentment.

When he was alone Melbourne took a decanter of whiskey and a glass and threw himself into his armchair. He was still burning with the sting from the undeniable fact that one of his oldest friends, his sister’s own husband, the man he'd made Foreign Secretary, viewed him with a sort of benign contempt.  Of the toxic brew of emotions swirling through him, it was the anger and contempt directed inward, at his own temperament, that took uppermost place as he swallowed down his whiskey in one long gulp and poured another glass.

Tom Young stuck his head in sometime later. He could have easily been taken for a housebreaker, part of the teams who roamed the city at night preying on honest homeowners, a stocky, swarthy, heavily muscled man of indeterminate age. “All right then, boss? I heard you come in but didn’t think it wise to interrupt. Someone was getting a rare trimmin’.”

“Just a discussion among friends, Tom.”

“I’ll leave you to it then. I have me some friends in, we have a game goin’. If you’d like to sit in with Jemmy and Paddy and –“

“No,” Melbourne chuckled. “I’m afraid you and your friends play far too deep for me. I’ll be staying the night, but I’ll try my best not to disturb you.” Young sketched a mock salute with two fingers and closed the door, muffling sound from the rest of the house.

It was a dark and stormy November night and heavy rain mixed with ice pellets hammered at the windows. Melbourne sat by the light of a poorly-burning fire, drinking steadily in an attempt to dampen the unsettled ugly mood which had descended on him. In years past, it was in just such moods that he had sought out the women with whom he maintained relationships to assuage his particular needs. Prostitutes certainly, from a select Piccadilly brothel well-disguised in an upper-class neighborhood, but some among the aristocracy who shared his tastes and, in more recent years, almost exclusively Caroline Norton. A strong-willed, dynamic creature who commanded all she surveyed by day, her salons frequented by poets, artists and writers as well as politicians, mostly young men desperately enamored with her who fawned over her, catering to her every whim, physically beautiful young specimens from whom she chose her lovers for a night. But always she kept a place for Melbourne, in her drawing room, in her salons, in her bed and, so she lately claimed, in her heart. He knew better, of course. They understood each other too well, and shared too deep an affinity, to ever harbor tender feelings for each other. But passion, dark and intense and unmatched by any other connections either formed – _oh yes,_ they shared that.

Of course, he would never again open _that_ can of worms. The woman was unstable, _dangerous_ as Leopold had so accurately labeled her. Melbourne knew without a doubt he would not ever risk everything he held most dear for another minute with that harpy, would never permit her volatility and destructive resentment to intrude on their lives. But, he acknowledged to himself with some measure of regret, the very unique way she could both arouse and assuage his darkest urges would be missed on occasions such as this.

He shook the crystal decanter and held it up to the light, vaguely surprised to see how little remained of the amber fluid. He upended it to pour what was left into his glass and rubbed his face vigorously. He’d hoped for sleep, or at least a relaxation of the restless tension which gripped him, knowing all too well what remedy would work for both, glad he had stayed in town. He would not be near Victoria, his sweet, darling girl, when a dark mood such as this took control, nor would he make the mistake again of thinking he could stay away from her in the night if she was within reach. Slumping down farther in his chair, Melbourne stared at the flames, hoping for their depths to lull him into somnolence.

Somewhere beyond the heavy oaken door, outside the library, Melbourne vaguely heard the chiming of the bell. Idly curious, he vaguely heard Tom’s heavy footsteps followed by the hum of voices. Was that a female voice? Melbourne cursed softly. _The man knows better than to bring his doxies my house. But then, I am so seldom here, who knows what orgies go on in my absence._ He debated whether it was worth the effort to have it out with him and decided in the negative. In the morning. At least _he_ will have some relief tonight. More power to him, Melbourne thought with a smirk.

Tom Young lay down his hand and warned his fellows with a growl to have a care, before going to answer the door. Months on end he had the place to himself and tonight it’s suddenly overrun with visitors, he reflected as he pulled open the heavy door.

The night was black, no stars visible under a heavy cloud cover, and only a single street light at the edge of the road. Tom scratched his head, bemused, at the two figures who stood on the stoop. Females, both of them cloaked against the cold wind and rain, hoods pulled up. Beyond them, he could just make out a carriage with two horses, parked well beyond their own house. 

The taller of the two addressed him in an East End dockside accent he knew well.

“Don’t stand there like a booby, man. It’s cold out here, let us in.”

“Well, miss, I can’t just do that. Tain’t my house, you see, and my employer doesn’t permit women of your type on the premises. If you’ve been sent for, you’ve come to the wrong place. Not that I’d mind entertaining you two. I have some friends here who might pay well for an hour or two of your time.” He reached out a hand and tipped back the hood of the woman as he spoke. Liking what he saw – a healthy broad face, looked clean, pleasant even, and he was willing to bet she’d be a scrappy one too – he smirked at her and winked. “But it might cost me a damn good job so I’d have to know the risk was worth my time. Show me your friend.” He was about to likewise pull back the hood on the second female when the first one knocked his arm away with surprising strength, and boxed his ear for good measure.

“Hands to yourself, bucko. Your employer is who we are here to see so fetch him for us and you can go about your business,” she said roughly, her expression determined and vaguely threatening. Young had no doubt this one had seen her share of rough trade and knew how to keep them in line. Her little friend still said nothing, but reached up as though to pull her own hood back. The taller one noticed too, and more gently than she’d treated him, laid her hand on the other one’s arm in a cautionary gesture.

Young laughed out loud. “You think you’re going to knock on my door and demand to see my employer? It’s nearly midnight, wench, and I just spoke to him minutes ago. If he were expecting the likes of you he would’ve mentioned it. Now git away. Get back in your ride and head back to your fancy house or I’ll take you in back and m’friends and I will show you our idea of a good time. Eh, darlin?” He reached out a hand an impudently pinched the shorter female where he reckoned a nice little breast could be. At that her companion shoved him so violently the heavy door slammed open and hit the wall behind him. While he was still recovering his balance she pushed back, one arm protectively around the shoulder of her companion.

Tom Young roared his outrage, calling for reinforcements from his card-playing comrades in the back. Before they could respond, Tom regained his feet and jerked the woman sharply around.

“What the devil is going on here?” The tableau which confronted Melbourne – big burly Tom Young brawling, seemingly without much success, with two females in his foyer – caused him to blink his eyes and curse both the lack of light in the hallway and his own whiskey-fueled befuddlement. Before he could react, Tom gripped each female by the arm and spun them sharply around with the clear intention of forcibly ejecting them from the house.

“Tom!” Melbourne barked, coming to his senses. _What the hell --?_ Of course he recognized that face, the blond hair and sturdy build.

“I’m just getting’ rid of these whores, sir. Sorry for the disruption.” Not to be deterred, he jerked both of them roughly with a grip sure to leave bruises and steered them out the door.

“Tom! Now! Leave us!” Melbourne shouted, aghast at the melee, at this man’s hands on –

Confused now, Young stood on the doorstep still holding both women, who were resisting mightily. For the first time he heard the shorter one speak, and with a damn good imitation of aristocratic accent. For the first time he doubted his own assessment of the situation. Perhaps Lord Melbourne had sent for one of those high-end prostitutes who visited gentlemen at their Pall Mall homes.

“Beg your pardon, sir. Did you send for these whores?” 

“Go. Now. Leave us.” He pushed past Tom and put an arm around each of the women, steering them back inside and to his library. “Go. Back to your game. If I want you I’ll call you.”

Melbourne took a deep breath, held it, then exhaled slowly. When he’d regained some semblance of control he looked first at the blond girl, hood now laid back on her shoulders.

Tuberose: Plaisirs Dangereux (Dangerous Pleasures)


	14. Chapter 14

Rosa Canina

Melbourne was hunched over a snifter of brandy he knew he didn’t need. He’d drank at the club all afternoon and when dining with his cronies, had a whiskey with Palmerston at his house and nearly emptied the bottle afterward. Now that his head was clear he swirled the amber liquid in the glass without raising it to his lips.

He could hear the muffled sounds from Victoria’s apartment through the door; he even fancied he could catch the faintest whiff of the scented French oil her maids would have added to the great copper tub. Her head dresser, the very resourceful Miss Skerrett, had roused a whole troop of serving wenches to provide steaming water – none, Melbourne was certain, who would have as readily complied with such an outrageous 3AM demand from anyone save the tough Dockside girl – and dismissed out of hand Victoria’s suggestion that she herself needed dry clothing and some sleep. The girl had good instincts and could read a situation well, her loyalty was so far unimpeachable, and Melbourne thought her earlier employment and whatever childhood privation preceded it had forged a redoubtable young woman. Remembering how ferociously she’d dealt with Tom Young and protected her mistress, Melbourne allowed himself to smirk at Tom’s expense. That routing was not going to be a story he easily lived down.

Victoria had said little on the trip back, curled against him while shivers racked her small frame. She’d burrowed deep inside the coat Melbourne had loaned her, and rested her head on him.

Miss Skerrett had been the first one to notice, as she was pinning up torn flounces, that Victoria was ill. “You’re burning up, ma’am,” she’d pronounced, holding the back of her hand flat on the queen’s flushed forehead. “You have a fever!”

Victoria shrugged off her concern with a weak smile, but Melbourne took over, feeling her forehead himself, chafing her hands. Her eyes were over bright, he thought, and her skin was definitely hot and dry to the touch. _Had he failed to notice earlier? Or had she just taken ill?_

“No wonder, ma’am, you’ve not taken off your wet boots and your hair dried itself in this cold house. Recipe for a fever, so my gran would say. Wet cold feet always do it.”

 _Damnation!_ Melbourne thought of the plain carriage they’d arrived in, with none of the amenities of Victoria’s State coaches, and only Tom and this girl, plus the simple stable hand who’d driven the horses. A cold rain was still falling, pinging off the windows in relentless partially frozen sheets. And the house, this untended lodging, poorly staffed and neglected, with not even firewood laid in.

“Miss Skerrett, ask Tom to heat some bricks – you’ll have to tell him what he’s about, I doubt it’s something he’s done. Find whatever they’re usually wrapped in, or use whatever’s at hand. And tell them we leave as soon as he has the horses ready.” Melbourne lifted Victoria’s chin and looked at her closely.

“How long have you felt ill, sweetheart? When we were - ?”

“No! Not that I noticed,” Victoria had smiled tremulously. “Only cold, remember? I’ve just taken a chill. I’ll be fine. I haven’t been truly sick since I was at Kensington with Mama.”

He’d bundled her into the shabby, thin-walled carriage and kept her out of the leaks spilling rain inside as best he could. She shivered so that with his arm around her she still needed her maid on the other side for warmth.

* * *

After the skirmish in the hallway, Lord Melbourne had taken the briefest of interludes to compose himself and collect his wits. He was not a man readily given to displays of agitation; a perceived tranquility of manner was woven into the very fabric of his being. At that moment, he felt a toxic mix of emotions brewing, residual anger and resentment of Palmerston’s cavalier, condescending attitude, no matter how wrapped in affection; annoyance at Victoria’s appearance on his doorstep and guilt at himself for being annoyed with her, and under it all that general restless irritation of nerves which had always been a harbinger of his need for release.

He sighed deeply and steadied himself.

“Victoria, this is a surprise,” he said, keeping his voice level. Her ready appreciation of the absurd and his own had always found connection and for a moment it seemed as if synchronicity might compel them to laugh and break the tension when their eyes met. Instead he slid his away quickly, perversely determined to cling to his ill humor. _Why? To show her I won’t yield?_

“You did not return so here I am.” Victoria’s gaze was direct and Melbourne found it easier to avoid her eyes.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” he muttered, turning away.

“Clearly.” She sounded as though she wanted to laugh. Gradually, though, her smile faded and he sensed rather than saw her uncertainty rise. Still he refused to face her.

“Am I intruding? Do you not want me here?”

Melbourne grasped at her words; he found it easier than saying it himself. _Why?_ He asked himself once again. _Because I’m in a foul mood and want one evening alone. Because I will not be dictated to_. When he turned back she’d taken off her sodden cloak and her maid was laying it out before the fire to dry.

“Frankly, no. Not tonight. Go home, ma’am. I will return tomorrow.” He didn’t want to weaken, if weakening it was to give up and go back. There was no reason not to, he was aware. But he would not be compelled.

“Why not? Is – is someone else here with you?” Victoria’s voice rose shrilly.

Melbourne looked at her uncomprehending. “Here with me? Who? Just Tom, whom you encountered.”

“ _Her_ , that’s who. Your Mrs. Norton. Isn’t it always her?” Victoria sounded shrill and her face was reddening, a full-fledged storm not far off.

Without thinking, Melbourne laughed shortly. “Do you imagine there are so few women in London I would have to dive back into that hornet’s nest for companionship?”

Melbourne belatedly became aware of Victoria’s maid shifting awkwardly. “Will you please go find my man Tom and ask him to dismiss his friends? No need to worry, he’s not going to trouble you now that he knows you’re here under my protection.”

The girl hesitated, moving her gaze from her royal mistress to Melbourne until Victoria gave the slightest of nods.

“Yes, sir. I’m not afraid of the likes of him. I should’ve kicked him in the jewels for laying hands on Her Majesty.” The girl’s pugnacity seemed intended as a warning to him as well, Melbourne thought approvingly: _Good girl! Victoria deserves loyal servants about her._

When they were alone once more Melbourne threw up his hands in frustration.

“I don’t want to argue with you. Please…just go back where you belong. I’ll return in the morning. This is only one night in town.” He didn’t in truth want to fight; he understood little enough his own recalcitrant determination to stay away for the night, except that he _must prove that he could._

Victoria’s eyes flashed. “’Where I _belong_? I am the Queen of this country; where I want to be is ‘ _where I belong’_.” That reasonable, almost detached voice in his head noted that, had she said _‘I am your wife’_ their argument would have been over before it fully began. Instead Melbourne seethed over her arrogance.

“I want to see!”

“See?“ Melbourne repeated, already weary and in no mood to coddle her irrational neediness.

“I want to see the rest of the house. Show me that woman is not here.” Victoria stood defiantly in front of him, glaring, and now it was she who would not meet his eyes.

“Why on earth are you so obsessed with her? It does not become you, ma’am.”

“Obsessed? Me? It is she who is obsessed with you. And you her, I think. Your friends long considered you _in thrall_ to the creature. No one, not your friends, your sister, your colleagues, could tear you apart, so why should I assume I could? I think you’ve already proven yourself incapable of breaking that connection off completely.”

All the latent frustrations Melbourne had been struggling with came to a head in her words. He was reminded that he had in fact been, if not missing Caroline precisely, then thinking of the particular way in which he could turn to her when at his most fractious and she would welcome, even incite, and then assuage those urges. There was no tenderness between them and he had no need to take care; they were uniquely well matched in some ways. She welcomed his anger, provoked it, as long as it ended in the way she preferred.

Victoria appeared to intuit his thoughts. She turned so swiftly her skirts swirled and rushed for the door.

“Victoria, wait – “ But she was not to be stopped. She pulled open the door and went out into the hallway, looking both ways before starting up the stairs.

“Where are you going? Get back here!” Melbourne’s barked command sounded harsh, echoing in the stairwell.

He understood she meant to search his lodgings room by room, this _princess_ , this spoiled child who had never ventured into most regions of her own palaces, who merely summoned what or whom she wanted and had hundreds of servants, hundreds of thousands of subjects, to do her bidding. Her clear sense of her own undisputed authority angered him, his reaction colored by whiskey and discontent, and he went after her, determined to show her that in his home at least she would not make the rules.

Trying to take two steps at a time to close the gap, Melbourne’s game left leg betrayed him and he stumbled, barking his shin painfully. By the time he reached the upper level Victoria had opened the first doors she came to and was outside of his own chamber, stymied by a loose doorknob. She must have heard him come up behind her, for her rapid breathing was laced with small huffs of giddy laughter, as though she enjoyed the chase.

“Victoria!” He grabbed hold of her wrist and she gasped, wincing. He looked down and even in the dimly light space, saw bruises forming where Tom had held her while attempting to eject her from the house. The sight enraged him, but perversely, illogically, he felt his anger directed at her rather than the man who’d put his hands on her. _If she had not put herself in that position…_

“Stop. Now. This is ridiculous. Do you really think to find Caroline Norton hiding in there? You clearly don’t know her, if you think she’d be content to _hide_ up here, or I’d be drinking alone in the library if she was.”

As Victoria gasped, Melbourne realized he’d gone too far. He was not surprised when she pulled raised her hand to slap him, so he was easily able to catch her wrist in mid-air. Not to be deterred, she used her other arm to strike a blow that glanced off his shoulder and twisted her arm out of his grasp. His anger was perilously close to the surface, but he was still able to appreciate the picture she made, expression fiercely determined, color high, all dignity fled in her determination to wrest herself free.

Melbourne was reminded he was scuffling in a dark hallway with his queen, but all he could see was his wife, this little wildcat ready to spit and claw and he’d never found her more desirable, more entirely _his_ , stripped of all sense of rank and position. A chuckle escaped him. _Pick her up, man, carry her inside and…._

She squirmed in a frantic attempt to pull away but she was trapped by his body against the stout oak door. Melbourne heard their ragged breathing in the dim silence, neither of them willing to submit. If his height and superior strength otherwise gave him the upper hand, determination not to hurt her put him at a severe disadvantage. Victoria was first to recover herself, and shoved him back.

“You dare laugh at me! Very well. I’m leaving. You may stay here with – whomever.” She gulped and took a deep breath, pulling herself up to her full height. “If – if he hadn’t been sent away I might have someone to return to as well.”

Melbourne took her meaning at once and intercepted her as she tried to flee, pushing her back against the door. Her words brought back the memory of that ugly scene on that ugly night. He understood she was hurt and angry and operating under a misapprehension which held more truth than he cared to admit. _I did not love her, but that damned Fornarina was far more to me than some admirer too smitten to declare himself, or take what he wanted, ever meant to her._ Melbourne was suddenly very tired. He only wanted to end this absurd mêlée and restore the peace between them. This was his own darling girl who had given him her whole heart without reservation and that was something entirely new in his life, infinitely precious.

“Victoria, please, calm down,” he tried to soothe her but she was too far gone in anger and injured pride to relent. Instead she twisted violently, determined to escape. Melbourne concentrated on not hurting her as he attempted to restrain her. She had nowhere to run on a stormy night save the streets of London, and that would never do.

Melbourne gripped both her hands in one of his and used his weight to pin her body against the door. Victoria, so much smaller, bucked and twisted futilely and he found himself responding, the powerful urgency of his arousal catching him by surprise.

Reason faded as he pushed himself against her harder, more forcefully, rocking his hips in sharp thrusts. Now, here, she was helpless and he was in control and the thought nearly maddened him with single-minded need. He’d been preparing, with the last ounce of willpower he possessed, to release her and turn away, but when he felt her respond in spite of herself he knew he was lost.

Victoria’s sudden intake of breath told him when she realized what was happening and her own movements subtly altered as she shifted and aligned herself to meet him. Melbourne kept hold of her wrists in one of his hands, holding them over her head, and with the other he impatiently searched for her, damning the layers of fabric he ripped away to reach her. Victoria’s lips were parted and her eyes dark with desire, and when he bent to kiss her she clamped her teeth on his lower lip, causing just enough pleasure-pain to inflame his senses beyond all reason.

“Show me, like you did her,” she whispered nonsensically, but he understood what she thought she wanted, and knew he never would. He would dominate her, and take her and fill her and conquer her, that was ineluctable now, far beyond his ability to stop, but he would never cause her pain, no matter how mixed with pleasure it might be. That was a darkness that had no place here and she did not know what she was asking.

* * *

Victoria lay on his bed, her limbs languid from spent pleasure, her face flushed and soft. Melbourne leaned over her, tracing the line of her jaw, her elegant collarbone. He laid his lips with exquisite gentleness over one spot, then another, then a third.

“I’ve marked you,” he murmured. “You will need to conceal these for some days.” Love marks only, but he remembered sucking so desperately, using lips and teeth, that he’d nearly broken skin. She’d groaned and tilted her head to offer herself, rapt in her own desire. His gaze traveled to her wrists, showing clear reddened fingermarks which would deepen into bruises, and he frowned.

“I should horsewhip him for touching you. But Tom is a useful fellow to have around. Will you forgive him?”

Victoria pushed herself against him, laying her leg over his. Melbourne pulled her skirts down, arranging them with care.

“You realize we’re fully clothed?” He said, his voice gentle and tinged with humor.

“We managed quite well,” Victoria answered, raising a hand to stroke his sharp cheekbones. Her lips were swollen and bee-stung, her breasts pushed up and out of her corset behind the torn fabric of her bodice, the creamy skin still flushed from her ecstasy. Melbourne thought she looked like every man’s erotic fantasy come to life.

“My duty is to protect you…even from me. I seem to have failed at that.” He traced her profile with a finger, his touch tender. He felt vaguely remorseful, and more so that he didn’t regret the tone of their encounter more than he did. But how could he bring himself to regret something so glorious for both of them?

She arched a brow. “Harm? You brought me great pleasure. Couldn’t you tell?” Her sleepy smile told him that indeed he had.

“No, ma’am, this is not harm. Where one loves, one can not inflict harm. There are darker acts but those do not co-exist with love. That is a different kind of passion. Still, I was not gentle tonight. I was not…as careful as you deserve.”

 “You gave me great pleasure and I welcomed you.” She paused thoughtfully. “What are those things that you’ve done with others? I _want_ to be that for you. I want to be _everything_ for you and I want to know you completely.” Melbourne knew she was reluctant to give voice to any name and her innocent ignorance of such matters was precious to him.

“No,” he said shortly. “What is between us is shared in love. _Everything_ between us. I’ve never lost sight of that. You are my love, my precious darling. Even when you are insufferable and I am…fractious. You will never experience things which are only borne out of unhappiness, frustration and anger. I can’t even think of such things when I am with you.”

Victoria shivered suddenly and violently. Melbourne frowned, instantly concerned.

“What is it, love? Are you – are you afraid?”

“William, no! I’m with you, how could I be afraid? I am so very cold.  I do not mean to complain. As long as I’m with you it’s bearable but perhaps…a fire?” Her teeth were chattering.

Melbourne looked over at the empty grate. “I’m afraid not. There is no wood ready and any brought in will be too wet to use. Come, ma’am. Now it really is time for you to leave. This house needs attention to make it habitable even for brief visits. I’m afraid it’s been sorely neglected. Tom is many things but a householder is not one of them.”

Victoria’s face shuttered itself and she turned away as she rose.

“And I will come with you, of course.” Victoria looked over her shoulder at him, cautiously.

“If you don’t want to – to be with me –“

Melbourne walked around the bed and gently took hold of her shoulders.

“Sweetheart, I was in a bloody bad mood and determined to show you I couldn’t be ordered about. Silly, irrational, adolescent foolishness. ‘ _You can’t tell me what to do_.’” He smiled ruefully. “Men can be very foolish sometimes. Let’s go home and get you in a warm bed. I’m afraid my old bones aren’t up to this either.”

Melbourne pulled a three quarters’ length coat from his chifferobe and wrapped it around her. On Victoria, the coat that reached past his knees swept her ankles so she had to lift the hem to walk, but it would be warm and the oiled cloth would keep her dry. He tried piecing together the rent fabric of her dress while she watched his long slender fingers at work.

“I’m afraid I tore it,” he said sheepishly, sounding so much like an abashed boy she bit her lip trying not to smile. Her hair had long since come out of its confinement and tumbled down her back. He lifted it out of her collar and spread it over her shoulders like a cape. “Keep the coat closed. We don’t need to give Tom a show.” Victoria smiled up at him, his rough soft voice warming her, and laid one hand over his where it rested on her arm. Melbourne thought to himself that here, far outside the boundaries of court protocol, he was actually proud to show her in all her voluptuous glory, as a man shows off a beautiful woman he has conquered, as _his_ , to Tom at least.

“Skerrett will have pins about her,” she whispered disinterestedly. “Need we go…right away? I am so very tired, I would rest a while if we could.”

Melbourne leaned forward and kissed her on her temple, then each cheek and finally her lips and when their eyes met, hers were heavy-lidded with love. He drew her toward him and wrapped both arms around her, holding her close.

“Mmmmm,” he sighed. “The sooner we leave, the sooner we can be in a properly made bed in a heated chamber.” Melbourne swatted her on her derriere. “Now go.”

* * *

Melbourne had stripped off his coat and vest, traded boots for slippers and pulled a dressing gown over shirt and breeches. He set aside the unwanted brandy he’d poured more from habit than anything else and waited to go in to his wife. It was some time, enough that he’d begun to doze off, before he heard knocking on the door which adjoined Victoria’s bedchamber. Usually her maid readied her for bed and left through the servants’ back passage, and Victoria herself never knocked.

Miss Skerrett stood in the passageway. “Her Majesty is settled into bed and sent me away, sir. I don’t like to leave her. She’s not well. I – I think the physician should be called.”

Melbourne nodded absently, then as an afterthought thanked her for her care and slid a pound note into her hand. The girl looked at it curiously, as if she might be offended, but instead smiled stiffly and ducked her head before turning away. She hesitated.

“My lord…please be sure they call me if Her Majesty needs anything in the night. Don’t let them other ones fumble about her. They don’t know how she likes things.”

Melbourne smiled his appreciation and she blushed and walked quickly away.

The bedchamber was dimly lit, only the flickering firelight showing him the way to her bed. Crisp bedcovers had been neatly turned down, a pitcher of cool water beaded with moisture stood ready should she wish it in the night. The small vase of pink blossoms added a cheerful touch.

Victoria lay so still she appeared to be sleeping, her hair spread out and brushed to a silky sheen. Her lovely smooth skin was glowing, from the heat of the bath or her fever, he wasn’t sure, and even before he’d crossed the floor Melbourne heard the whistling rasp of her breathing. He paused, unwilling to disturb her and equally reluctant to leave her.

“I’m so very tired, William, and my head hurts.” Her eyes were half-closed, her voice breathless and whisper-soft. “Please…come to bed with me. I am cold.” She moved to make room in the wide bed. “You had flowers sent…you weren’t even here. What are they?”

“Rosa Canina,” Melburne laughed softly. “Not the most elegantly named. ‘Dog Rose’. I am going to summon a physician, Victoria,” Melbourne lifted her hand to his lips.

“No! Not…not now. Perhaps in the morning. But not that fool Clarke. Send for Cameron. I trust him more than those sycophants. He’s direct and he did what had to be done when I was injured. I can’t be sick long.”

“Of course you can’t. We need you up and about.” Melbourne’s mouth shaped a tender smile. He kissed her forehead and tried not to wince at the dry heat radiating from her skin.

“No, I mean…Parliament opens the day after tomorrow.”

 

_Rosa Canina: Pain and Pleasure_


	15. Chapter 15

Crimson Polyanthus

The Queen’s spacious bedchamber was nearly full – she herself was propped up in bed, appearing more fully revived than she had during the night, her expression alert and irked. Around her bed were arrayed three physicians, the Queen Mother, Baroness Lehzen, the Lord Chamberlain and, leaning against a wall out of the way, her husband Viscount Melbourne. He was concerned for her health, of course, but knew his wife well enough to appreciate the salutary effect her annoyance was having in overriding the effects of fever and malaise. Melbourne did not want to push himself forward in the midst of such an imposing array, and preferred to exchange speaking looks with Victoria through the crowd.

Victoria had grudgingly acquiesced to summoning a physician, but demanded she be attended by young Daniel Cameron, the former Army medic studying medicine under the auspices of a celebrated Harley Street surgeon. Eyebrows were raised and egos chafed as a result. Cameron had earned royal favor in the bloody aftermath of the August assassination attempt, and was by all accounts excelling at his unlooked-for advancement, due entirely to Royal patronage – but he was gruff, unpolished and above all interested in only trauma, the bloodier the better. His oft-stated goal was to return to the armies of the east as a full-fledged battle surgeon.

Cameron had arrived surly and grumbling, with his mentor and friend Henry Holland. Melbourne knew Henry nearly as well as he had known his celebrated parent and was pleased to see the medical student he’d foisted on him was not too onerous a burden.

Cameron was not yet thirty, a muscled, tanned figure not unlike his elder brother, save for the recent cropping of his blond hair. His usual manner of speech was abrupt and impatient, and he adopted no polish to address the Queen. At Victoria’s insistence only Cameron was allowed to examine her, feeling pulse points, listening carefully to her chest, percussing her lungs. With Melbourne’s patient reassurance she permitted Dr. Holland to stay while excluding Sir James Clarke despite his protests. Melbourne remained nearby, admonishing her quietly when she gave signs of recalcitrance.

When he’d finished Cameron looked up speakingly, all but rolling his eyes. “Inflammation of the lungs, of course,” he muttered. “Don’t know why it takes a surgeon to diagnose.”

“Not typhus then?” Holland prompted. “Why not?”

Cameron, understanding his senior’s need to teach, grumbled. “No gastrointestinal involvement. Fever’s not that high.”

“All right, inflammation of the lungs. Serious?”

“Could be,” Cameron shrugged. “Didn’t your father die of it, ma’am? And he a strong healthy man?”

Victoria’s eyes widened and she nodded silently.

“Course? Treatment?” Holland prodded.

“I believe the standard of care is copious bloodletting, plasters, an emetic to rid the body of ill humors.  Phosphorus ingestion has lately been proposed.”

“And what do you propose, _Dr_. Cameron?”

Cameron shrugged and pulled on his coat. “Nothing. Keep her in bed. Rest, avoid drafts, food, drink lots of liquids to thin the material congesting the lungs. Some laudanum to soothe the cough if it becomes too painful. Bloodletting for lung inflammation will soon be proven to be the main cause of  _increased_ mortality. Someday there might be medicine that actually works to curb the growth of the infectious agents inhabiting the lungs but at present, supportive care.”

“Clarke’s going to demand we do something. He’ll propose draining the swollen lymph nodes, at least. You ought to sympathize with that – you with your surgeon’s hands and impatience with nature.” Holland’s manner was mild; he clearly relished the role of teacher at his own young age, Melbourne thought, pleased he’d brought the two unlikely men together.

“You’re familiar with Alison and Bennet debating the issue?” Holland continued.

“I am. Doesn’t alter my opinion. Do what you want.” He tugged his jacket over broad shoulders. “Should we get back? I have to finish cleaning out the second surgery for you.”

“Ah…not yet, my friend. Now that you’ve seen the patient, we perform the real test of our skills. Lord Melbourne, will you open the doors for our colleagues?”

When the diagnosis was delivered the Duchess of Kent shrieked audibly and rushed to her daughter’s side as though to a death bed while  the medical men began debating proposed treatments. It was a good half-hour before Melbourne was once more alone with his wife.

“That was exhausting,” she sighed, grinning. “Worse than the illness.”

Melbourne had maintained his insouciant demeanor throughout and met Victoria’s eyes as often as he could with a shared look of amused understanding, but once alone with her he allowed his concern to show.

“I agree I’ve heard nothing that promises real benefit, save rest so you can fight it off. Most of the time lung inflammation – what some now call pneumonia – resolves itself, but you will not take chances with your health. I’m sure we can find ways to keep you amused in bed.”

“William! You forget, I told you I must open Parliament tomorrow. Peel already delivered his agenda and will be bringing his speech today. I must meet with him here? In bed?”

“While I can think of nothing more entertaining than the sight of Sir Robert addressing you in dishabille just to witness his blushes and stammers, you cannot travel to town to open Parliament, ma’am.”

“I can’t not, William. You’ve told me yourself, it’s the spectacles that support the monarchy. The pomp and the traditions we are making.” Melbourne conceded his own words, his belief that the monarchy in a 19th century modern age was a mirage at best, and needed for sustenance a display of pageantry and ritual which could be confirmed into tradition only by strict adherence. A funny position to be in, he thought, realist enough to know the very idea of a God-anointed sovereign was ridiculous, yet traditionalist enough to believe it was the monarchy which held society together in spite of extremists pulling at the edges. Yet could he permit his wife to put her health at risk to exercise his – and her – belief in the necessity of ritual?

“Peel will have to put it off. A week. We’ll ask him for a week.”

When the Prime Minister was shown into the Queen’s bedchamber, he was every bit as gauche as Melbourne had imagined. Such awkwardness, almost palpable fear, hadn’t been on display in the man since his first abortive interview with Victoria in 1839. He was a competent chief lord, Melbourne thought, an honest politician – if one who permitted his own principles to shift him too far from his loyalist base – and an undeniably bright man. Yet he had no polish or ease of manner and appeared as much or more intimidated by Victoria the woman as by Victoria Regina.

Victoria’s maids had neatly arranged her bedcovers and her dresser had altered a modest, dark-colored dressing gown to serve as a bed jacket. Her hair was in neatly coiled braids and she was more fully covered in her boudoir than she was in fashionable bare-shouldered gowns. That, Melbourne knew, was as much to cover those slowly-fading love marks he’d so rashly left on her neck and shoulders – the memory of inflicting those made him feel a trace of heat even now – as it was in deference to her chief minister’s prudery.

Two chairs had been arranged bedside with a table between for the dispatches and documents Peel would bring, and Melbourne rose from the one nearest the Queen when Peel was announced.

He bowed formally at intervals as he approached the bed, each salutation lower and more unnecessary, Melbourne thought with the merest quirk of a smile tightening the corner of his mouth. When Peel finally drew parallel with the foot of the great State bed he stopped and seemed rooted in place, his mouth opening and closing without sound.

“Ah hem…ma’am..” he began his stuttering inquiry into her health in the most formal speech possible, so convoluted Melbourne quite found himself lost in the syntax.

“Please, Sir Robert, have a seat,” Victoria interrupted, her voice slightly hoarsened by the coughing spasms which would overtake her, but otherwise revealing no frailty. She’d taken laudanum in preparation for the meeting, and Melbourne watched with interest to see if the narcotic would decrease her ready impatience with Peel’s prosing.

The man seemed unable to abandon his lengthy inquiry into the state of Her Majesty’s health, until Victoria snapped at him.

“My death is not imminent, Sir Robert. You may so assure the House. A mere chill which has unfortunately caused the doctors to recommend bed rest out of an abundance of caution.”

“Her Majesty’s chief complaint is alysm. The sooner she can be up and about, the greater the relief to all of us. I’m sure you can sympathize, Sir Robert,” Melbourne added with his own touch of confiding humor, hoping to assuage the worst of Peel’s nerves.

“Yes, well…I’ve brought your speech, ma’am. For tomorrow?” _Ah,_ Melbourne thought, _get right to the heart of the matter._ Victoria glanced at Melbourne before responding.

“Only to keep my physicians satisfied, Sir Robert, can we postpone it a week?”

Peel’s expression looked more completely stricken than even Melbourne thought possible. With much hemming and hawing…he declined.

“It’s not strictly _necessary_ you attend, ma’am. It’s understood by all that you merely convey the words I give you and indicate your approval of the agenda I’ve drafted. A mere formality. But I’m afraid we must open. The city is full to bursting with Members of both Houses and there are matters which require immediate attention.”

Victoria glanced once more at Melbourne, who seemed about to speak.

“We will be there, Sir Robert. I understand my duty and take leave to correct your misapprehension: it _is_ necessary that the Sovereign attends. It is, after all, the convening of _my_ Parliament, with _my permission_ and my conveyance of the Lord’s blessing.”

The Queen was sitting up very straight, and Melbourne knew he was seeing _Victoria Regina_ , _Gloriana_. She might as well have been arrayed in cloth of gold, wearing the most impressive of the State crowns, as a fine lawn nightdress under her dressing gown.

As soon as Peel had left Melbourne picked up the speech and perused it, to delay the inevitable argument he rued as much as out of curiosity. Peel was a fine speechmaker, or could be when passion for a subject overtook him, but his writing was workmanlike at best. Melbourne determined to wordsmith it where he could.

“I will medicate heavily with laudanum to suppress my coughs. I can do it.”

“Victoria, you are weakened. Your trip to the privy overtaxed you earlier and the fever, far from breaking, has been rising hourly.” Melbourne was torn – he too recognized the necessity, while he would not fail to protect his wife.

“What about your mother? She’s been assuming more duties and the public loves her,” he suggested.

“When nerves overtake her Mama tends to lose her English entirely. And she’s never _read_ English as well as she speaks it, even.” Victoria turned her gaze full upon him. “You’ll have to do it. You are my husband.”

“I can _not_ do it, ma’am. For those same reasons why you say we can’t _not_ do it, it can’t be me representing the Throne. For God’s sake, I’m _one_ of them.”

“No one dislikes you, William. You have many friends in both Houses and our marriage didn’t cause nearly the unrest we feared.”

“I can’t do it because I’m _one_ of them and they know that. Mere marriage doesn’t change the fact, nor does whether they like or dislike me. It’s the _mystery_ of the thing, ma’am. I’ve explained it to you. For the monarchy to continue to exist, we must be mountebanks putting on a continual show. To let them peek behind the curtain quite destroys the whole thing.”

“Then what? Who? I must go myself.”

“Medicated to the gills on laudanum? Losing your voice? Possibly _swooning_ like the frail female they are forbidden to see? No, my dear, it won’t work.” He sighed and sat beside her, raking his hands through his hair.

Victoria was silent, thinking, determined to ward off the pain in her head and the fatigue which pulled at her.

“The Prince of Wales,” she said suddenly. Melbourne looked up in disbelief.

“Liam? Victoria, he’s not yet five. A babe.”

“He is my heir and the next in line for our thousand-year throne. He reads as well as a child twice his age. He speaks clearly and has natural dignity. He will do us credit. As you said, they must see royalty on the throne. Please extract what you think he can manage of the speech and as for the rest, you may certainly speak on our behalf. Liam will have precedence in the processional, of course, but he’s done that already at Court on State occasions.”

Melbourne was considering the notion of their almost-five-years son acting in his mother’s place before the House. In his mind’s eye he saw his physically beautiful, preternaturally self-possessed son standing before the assembly and thought it might serve well. The boy had a small ceremonial cornet which he wore with aplomb and had witnessed several great ceremonies. He was not shy, nor bold, and as his mother said, had an innate dignity of manner in company which can’t be taught. He nodded.

“All right. Your Majesty, the Prince of Wales will open this session of Parliament.”

Seamstresses were set to work altering one of the lightest of Victoria’s ceremonial robes while Prince William’s own household was in a flurry of preparation, ensuring that the boy’s newest suit of clothing was precisely fitted to his small form. His de facto governess – not Lady Lyttleton, who held the ceremonial appointment, but Baroness Lehzen, who ran the Queen’s own household and oversaw the nurseries – sat with him and, in place of his ordinary lessons, reminded him of etiquette and the manners he must display. Later, to the boy’s great delight, he had the undivided attention of his father for several hours as they rehearsed the words he must say and what signs his father would give at each point.

Listening to the boy’s clear, well-enunciated delivery in treble tones, his sharp green-eyed gaze so like his father’s, Melbourne was reminded once more of his elder son, poor broken thing, whose mind at thirty was less well-developed than this child’s.

Baroness Lehzen returned and required her royal charge to go through the physical motions of the presentations and salutations and both she and Melbourne struggled to suppress smiles of pride at the boy’s only question: “Must _all_ the gentlemen kiss me?”

Melbourne reminded him of the polite Court gesture, lips never making contact with skin, and the necessity for Liam to pay close attention at each point to know when to withdraw his hand so each liege could make way for the next in line. He looked to Lehzen with satisfaction.

“I think he’ll be fine, Baroness,” Melbourne said, and she beamed with pride.

The day of the opening dawned cold and clear. The air was icy, a first taste of the brutal winter ahead, hardest on the poor of London, but on this day a brilliant sun filled the sky and the streets were lined. It had been announced from Downing Street and in the early morning paper that due to Her Majesty’s temporary indisposition – pregnancy was universally assumed to be the cause – His Royal Highness Prince William would represent the Crown in opening Parliament. Few of those who held coveted viewing positions had heard until word-of-mouth spread, but even then few left. A chance to see the little Heir, who was rarely seen in public, was even more exciting than the anticipated view of their Queen who had, after all, only weeks before opened the Royal Exchange in the City.

Prince Liam rode with his father in the great gilt State coach. His black velvet suit had been embellished with as much gold braid it could hold and the white silk cravat at his throat had been tied by his father’s hands. A modest coronet nestled in the boy’s light brown hair, jewels peeking out from the curls. As Melbourne watched with pride, leaning back in his own seat, the boy waved to the crowds, to the left and the right. Cavalry officers rode in close formation, so the bodies of their mounts almost completely blocked any clear line of sight to the child – physical protection of the Heir being paramount – which only made the crowds shriek louder when they glimpsed the royal boy. Melbourne felt the strain from his own coiled muscles, constantly alert for any movement which might spell a threat, but he kept his expression serene for his boy’s sake.

Melbourne had been at the head of eight State openings and participated in many more from both Houses, and he knew well every stage of the procedure. He knew that the cellars would have already been searched by the Yeomen of the Guard to prevent a repeat of Guy Fawkes’s Gunpowder Plot. How ironic, he thought, that an attempt to neaten up by burning tally sticks had accomplished in large part what Fawkes had failed to do.

The Members would have already assembled, and as many of their guests as possible would be packed into the limited gallery space. The hostage would be delivered, if he hadn’t already – Melbourne speculated who might have been chosen on this occasion to wait out the ceremony at Buckingham under the vice-chamberlain’s watch, to ensure the safe return of the sovereign. Since Charles I had been detained by a hostile parliament, this step was never eliminated, albeit in modern times it was one step in a proscribed ritua formality.

The Imperial State Crown would have arrived. Victoria struggled to wear it on each occasion – it was a heavy, unwieldly beast, Melbourne knew. Today, in recognition of the impossibility of Liam wearing it, the Imperial would be borne before him on a velvet cushion carried by someone from the Lord Chamberlain’s office. Peel of course would carry the Sword of State.

While Melbourne would remain as near to Liam as he could, the Lord Chamberlain, it was determined, would read “the Queen’s Speech” in its entirety. He would allow the little Prince to deliver the blessing as he had rehearsed. Melbourne would accompany him as he would have accompanied the Queen, as her consort, but he knew that protocol would require him to surrender his son at various points in the ceremony and particularly the recessional. Tickets to the opening were highly prized and seats inside generally reserved for those privileged guests Members had granted admission. Security overall was tight and anyone who appeared to pose the remotest threat would be excluded. Melbourne was resigned to entrusting his precious, fragile child – so _tiny_ out in the world, despite his poised larger-than-life presence at Court – to Baron Lyndhurst, Lord Chancellor, and his ceremonial escorts to see him through the crush, but he could not like it.

He stood in the robing chamber watching as Liam was draped in the lately-modified state robe and bit his cheek to keep from smiling when he saw the boy surreptitiously rub his cheek on the soft ermine stole. A slightly larger, more ornate crown was placed and the train of the robe spread out in the hands of pages who, in their early teens, towered over their small sovereign.

As they processed in Liam held himself tall – as tall as any child of his years could – and an audible gasp ran through the assembly. His beauty, his poise and the confident manner in which he carried himself struck everyone present and tears filled the eyes of the most hardened republicans. No man was anti-monarchist today, Greville would write.

Liam recited those parts of the Speech he’d been given from memory, his voice clear as a bell and ringing through the abject silence with which his words were greeted. Lyndhurst knelt before him, formally receiving the goatskin vellum document and, without turning his back on the Prince, read the speech in its entirety to the assembly. When he had finished, he bowed deeply and stepped to one side.

As Melbourne watched, eyes glued to the tiny glittering form, his son stepped onto the riser fixed into place so he could be clearly seen by most of the assembled peers. With only a single glance to his father for reassurance, which Melbourne provided with a small proud smile, Prince William delivered his closing benediction in flawless syllables: “My Lords and Members of the House of Commons, I pray that the blessing of Almighty God may rest upon your counsels."

The great chamber erupted into cheers, whistles and foot-stomping applause. Without prompting, the little Prince bowed to all those present. Melbourne came forward, knelt and kissed his son’s hand, first to pledge allegiance, and then stood immediately behind him as the Lords came forward to make obeisance.

Afterward they withdrew in procession to the robing room, and thence to an antechamber where Members of both Houses queued for an opportunity to present their guests, spouses, children, a few specially favored commoners. Prince William walked just in front of the Prime Minister, pausing obediently for each introduction, extending his hand as he’d been taught.

Most difficult for Melbourne as a father was watching his boy endure the over-familiarity of those determined to make physical contact. In this chamber all present had been carefully vetted, admitted only by invitation of a Member, yet he could not like the strange hands touching his child, patting his head, pinching his cheek as though he were a strange pet on display Many, in fact most, of those in in line were familiar faces, while others, newer members of the Commons in particular, passed by in a blur. The women were the worst, Melbourne thought. Where one might expect them to have some wisdom gained in motherhood, many seemed determined to kiss Liam’s soft cheek or fondle his curls as they cooed over him. Others were accompanied by their own offspring, children pushed forward as though they were expected to make fast friends with their prince.

When Melbourne strained to recall specifics he could call up only the slightest recollection of one newer Member of the Commons, Sidney Herbert, who brought up a sulky boy at the gawky stage of early adolescence – Melbourne supposed he had presumed it to be Herbert’s son if he had thought about it at all. The only reason he could recall the encounter was that it was generally the smaller children, much closer to Liam in age, or the giddy adolescent girls who showed such bold interest. This boy had – Melbourne strained to visualize it – leaned down and put his mouth close to Liam’s ear as if whispering, and (had it happened in fact? or merely in retrospective imagining?) the prince’s expression of surprise. The whole thing had taken only  a few seconds. Then the boy had pressed a packet into the Prince’s hand and moved on. Many of those in line to greet the Prince gave him small tokens, flowers, medals, wooden toys and assorted gewgaws, which were handed off to a page  standing nearby.

The end of the line was nowhere in sight when Melbourne determined Liam had had enough. He murmured as much to the Lord Chamberlain and to his credit, the man immediately signaled to the waiting yeomen guard. As soon as they were out of sight of the throng Melbourne picked up his son and carry him to the waiting carriage. The child was asleep in his father’s arms before they were underway.

When they reached Buckingham House, rather than wake him or hand him off to a waiting servant, Melbourne climbed the steps with the child still in his arms. They went directly to the Queen’s bedchamber. She pushed herself up in bed when she saw them enter, and held out her arms. Melbourne laid the still-sleeping little boy beside his mother.

“Well? How did it go?” Victoria whispered.

“He did wonderfully! They cheered him,” Melbourne responded with pride. “But I will let him tell you about it. How are you feeling, ma’am?”

“All right. My head still hurts and I can’t breathe very well, unless I remain very still. But please, tell me everything.“ She leaned against her husband’s shoulder and with one hand stroked her son’s hair. Together the parents smiled proudly down at their sleeping boy. Melbourne's heart felt full to bursting with love for Victoria and this angelic child they'd made, with gratitude too immense for words that he finally had the family he'd always wanted, a woman who loved him with her whole heart and two beautiful _perfect_ children. Later he would wonder why he hadn't sensed more trouble brewing, this time directed at his innocent child.

 

_Crimson Polyanthus, The heart's mystery_

 

 


	16. Chapter 16

* * *

Solomon's Seal

Melbourne retreated from the Queen’s bedchamber unwillingly, leaving only because she requested plaintively he do so. Her fever rose at day’s end as fevers do, and by night the coughs which wracked her thin body were immune to even repeated dosing with laudanum. He knew that in illness Victoria had reverted to the state of a fretful child wanting her nurse, and he recognized the embarrassment lurking in her expression. When he laid a hand on her forehead she tried and failed miserably to smile, settling for pressing his hand to her lips.

At loose ends, Melbourne walked down the hall to visit the nursery. It was dimmed at the late hour and he saw the boy asleep in the moonlight, his baby daughter at rest in her cradle. A nursery maid snored peacefully in her chair. Melbourne recognized the Duchess of Kent, sitting at his son’s bedside watching him sleep. He was about to back out of the room without disturbing them when his mother-in-law looked up.

“Lord Melbourne,” she whispered. “Come say good night to your son. Please, don’t let me disturb you. I can leave if you like.” Melbourne instead shook his head.

“No, please, stay,” he said reassuringly. “He had a very busy day.” The Duchess sat back down and smiled at her grandson.

“It was his first such appearance. Alone, without his mother, representing the Crown,” she said wonderingly. “I would have never dared to allow Drina to appear before the public like that at such an age. Perhaps I was overprotective. I feared for her. So many wanted what would be hers.”

“You did very well, Duchess. Everything Drina is now – her dignity, her understanding of her role and her sense of duty – she owes to you. Even her fierce independence.” Melbourne had watched the Duchess’s expression soften at his words; at the end, her mouth twisted into a wry smile of understanding.

“That last perhaps not by intention. And yet –“

“And yet, where would she be without it? You did well in shaping our Queen.”

“And you, Lord Melbourne. How I resented your influence! But no one could have been better suited to teach Drina everything she had to learn about government and the role she was to fill. Her destiny.”

Melbourne hesitated, then laid a hand on her shoulder, wanting them to be friends and allies, joined in their love of Victoria. She did not respond, but neither did she pull away.

“Lehzen has been occupied with Drina. I dare not intrude when she is with her nursling,” the Duchess said. Melbourne heard sarcasm and resignation both in her tone.

“Me either, Duchess. So I came to the nursery.”

“Counting on her absence to steal a few minutes from her precious schedule?” Victoire asked pointedly. “I see we are alike in our thinking. I would not dare risk waking my grandchildren for a good night kiss if the Baroness was on duty.”

Melbourne eased himself into a seated position on his son’s bedside and leaned over to brush the hair from his forehead. He studied the perfect profile, so like his own in the portraits his mother had commissioned. Augustus had favored his own mother, slender, almost delicate and sylph-like even when he’d reached his full height and towered over Melbourne. Liam was his father in miniature, green eyes, coloring, aquiline nose. He had, Melbourne often thought, his own overly sensitive nature as well, seeing, understanding and feeling much that should be well beyond his years. His keen intelligence and poise came from neither parent, but were uniquely his own, as was his sweet nature, devoid of Victoria’s temper and Melbourne’s own moodiness.

As he hovered over him the boy opened his eyes blearily. “Papa,” he whispered, reaching an arm out.

“Shhhh, go back to sleep.”

“Where’s Mama? Is she still sick?”

The Duchess of Kent leaned forward. “Your Mama is a little bit sick,” she held thumb and finger up, a hair’s breadth apart. “A very little. Baroness Lehzen is taking care of her so Lor – your father and I came to see you.” Melbourne was surprised, pleasantly so; his relationship to both children was understood, of course, yet few ever verbalized it, certainly not Victoria’s mother. She was straying far from Leopold’s line, he thought. Good for her.

Prince William smiled and patted his grandmother’s face. “Good. Will Mama be well?”

“Yes, of course, before you know it,” Melbourne answered.

“Papa….” Liam was whispering as well, as if the darkness demanded it. He paused, his sandy brows furrowed as though deep in thought, and his green eyes went from face to face searchingly. “Do I have a brother?”

The Duchess did not speak; she looked to Melbourne to answer, curious as to what he would say.

“Neither the Queen or Prince Albert have any other little boys, Liam. I had another boy once. I’ve told you about Augustus, and how I would read to him sometimes from the same books I read to you.” Melbourne trusted that in years to come, as he matured, Liam would understand more of their particular family arrangement. He had done likewise, gradually coming to accept as quite natural that Viscount Melbourne did not particularly like him, while Mother’s friend Lord Egremont welcomed him with affectionate pride.

Liam’s eyes remained clouded, however, the answer not satisfying him.

“Augustus went to Heaven, to be with his mother?” Liam persisted, looking to Melbourne for the answer to a riddle he was puzzling out.

“That’s right. Augustus was a grown man when he died, though, not a little boy like you.” His son had been thirty then, older than Victoria was now, and had lived most of his life as what others called feeble-minded. That last night he’d been laying on the sofa while his father worked nearby and sat up to request franks for letters he must write. The sentence, and the sentiment, was unlike any thought he’d ever heard his son construct, as lucid and clear as any man’s might be. Seconds later he was gone.

“Then another brother? Not a man. A boy, but not little like me.”

“No, my dear one, no other brothers. As your grandmother said, you are our only little boy.” Melbourne stroked the velvet-soft cheek with his thumb, wondering why his son still looked troubled. _Had he been dreaming_?

“Good. When will my soldier come back?” Melbourne marveled at how quickly a child’s mind could leap from subject to subject. _Cameron_. ‘His’ soldier. Of course, Cameron had spent a great deal of time with the boy.

“Lord Cameron is on a special trip, Liam. He went to India with Lord Ellenborough, to protect him.” The Duchess answered as though she was not explaining for the first time.

“May he please come back? If Mama writes and asks, he must return.” Liam struggled to sit up in bed, his nightshirt bunching about him. He pushed back the ruffled cuffs impatiently.

“You have other soldiers to protect you, Liam. Lord Cameron has another job to do now.”

“I don’t want another soldier, I want Lord Cameron. And I _don't_ want another brother, please. The soldiers today did not keep him away. _My_ soldier would not allow people to say they are my brother. _I_ am the only little boy who will be King.” He looked from father to grandmother with some frustration writ on his gentle, beautiful face. His voice was tremulous and high-pitched. Melbourne was surprised; Liam was never a fretful, demanding child.  _Was he coming down with Victoria's fever? The doctors said it was not contagious but doctors could be wrong. Why else would this sweet, composed child take such odd fancies?_  

“I will sleep now, I think. First I will say my prayers and ask that my soldier comes back soon.”

Both adults rose, knowing themselves to have been dismissed, however sweetly. The Duchess bent to pick up a basket while Melbourne tucked the bedclothes into place and kissed his son. Neither saw the small note card, creamy thick stationary with block printed letters, which was tucked just under the edge of the Prince’s pillow.

“There must have been quite the crush today. After what happened last summer, it concerns me that people were able to get close enough to give him all this.” Victoire showed him the basket she carried, its handles looped over her arm.

Melbourne saw all the various and sundry offerings the boy had collected from the people who felt a need to give some token to their prince. A wooden figure, cunningly carved so its joints moved, was an early favorite of Liam’s until his grandmother saw precisely how lifelike the figure was. She lifted it out now to show Melbourne, grimacing. Piled in the basket were flowers, books, cards, hand-drawn pictures and a motley assortment of bric a brac.

“I have told him he must never eat or drink anything given him on such occasions and must always allow us to examine the rest. All her childhood, I thought of nothing but Drina’s safety. She was never left alone and slept in my chamber at night to prevent those determined to kill her -“

“The people along the roads were never allowed close to the carriage. Only those who were invited by the MPs as their guests were presented. Although that too was a bit much for him, I think. I wasn’t well pleased that they were allowed so close, close enough to touch him. I’m sure they meant well but –“

“To _touch_ him? Lord Melbourne!” The Duchess gave one of her patented shrill squeaks, which echoed in the silent corridor. Melbourne hastened to reassure her.

“I drew him away as soon as I could. These were no revolutionaries, they were the wives and daughters of our Ministers. Children, I should say, there were some boys pushed forward also. But I take your point. The thing was pulled together at the last moment. I will ensure it doesn’t happen again, if our Liam is to appear in public.” He chuckled. “They pat at him like a particularly cute puppy. No mystique in that to sustain the monarchy.”

“I will say good night. Please, when you see Victoria, give her my love. I know I hover and overreact to things but her father – such a strong man, the picture of health – went out hunting and caught a chill and then _gone_ just like that.” Her words gave Melbourne a shiver of foreboding, until he reminded himself of her nature. This catastrophizing was how she’d kept her daughter safe, but also how she’d kept her prisoner until she rebelled.

“Victoria will be fine, Duchess. I intend to check on her. I’m sure it’s not easy to do but – try not to worry about her quite so much. I can share that burden now. Not that caring for Victoria is a burden – more of a challenge, I should say.” He grinned and bent forward, intending to kiss her hand. At the last moment he surprised her with a quick kiss on the cheek instead.

The Duchess’s light blue eyes widened in surprise but not, he thought, displeasure. “Drina is very lucky, Lord Melbourne. You love her very much.”

“She is my everything, Duchess. The rest is just…noise.”

They stood uncertainly for a moment. Then the Duchess swung the basket she carried. “I will go through this before I sleep. Most will end up in the fire but perhaps there are some books and toys Liam can give to the poor. The writings – most are petitions I think, from people seeking favors – I will give to Drina’s secretary. Liam reads far too well to be allowed to go through those on his own. Such sad tales people tell – he has a big heart and does not need to read about fathers being transported or hung, farms being foreclosed.”

Melbourne nodded. “If you need advice on any of it, please don’t hesitate to ask. But I’m sure you will handle it all most wisely.”

The Baroness sat in a chair at Victoria’s bedside, head tilted forward as she dozed. Victoria was sleeping soundly, although the rasping whistle that came with each breath troubled her husband. Seeing her bathed in moonlight, her snowy white gown luminescent, her features smooth and untroubled in rest, Melbourne was reminded how painfully young she was. He had truly been her first _everything_ , he thought, feeling the weight of that honor, and the burden too. She’d been a princess just emerged from her tower, carrying the weight of her destiny on her shoulders. She had known nothing of life, of government, of the monarchy or her own role. She’d never danced with boys, never flirted or been courted, never went into society. She’d had no friends save the woman now guarding her, had read nothing but the carefully chosen books selected by a minister’s spinster daughter. Every pleasure from a first taste of champagne to waltzing in a ballroom, from riding out fast without the cautious hand of a groom on her bridle to walking barefoot in the grass, she’d experienced at his side. And every pain, from his occasional inevitable need to deny some offhand wish to the burn of jealousy as she learned that first love can sting, from the tantrums she threw when her Prime Minister occasionally made other plans to the agony when he rejected her proposal, had been learned from him as well. Mistress of all she surveyed, Queen of a vast expanding nation, greatest on earth, yet powerless against the emotions, good and bad, which savaged her. His tempestuous, headstrong, demanding and oh so vulnerable girl, his Queen and now, finally, his wife. He knew that without seeking it, he had become everything to her, father, mentor, friend, lover and finally husband. It humbled and frightened him to know how much power she’d vested in him.

Giving the governess a wide berth, Melbourne approached Victoria from the far side of the room. He sat beside her, staying on top of the covers, not even kicking off his slippers. Without waking Victoria seemed to sense his presence and turned over so she was pressed against him, seeking his warmth, the comfort of his presence. As soon as she touched him, she sighed deeply as if at peace and holding her close, Melbourne slept too.

In her own apartments, the Duchess of Kent allowed her maid to prepare her for sleep, pouring hot water, tying in curl papers and helping her out of her dress.

She settled herself in bed and began the distasteful task of going through those offerings pressed on her grandson by the _hoi polloi._ A wooden puppet which had clearly taken a great deal of time and attention to detail, strings attached which moved its appendages in quite realistic fashion, causing arms, legs and very exact erect penis to jump about – who would give such a thing to a child? Flowers wrapped in soiled handkerchiefs. Cakes and sweets which had been crumpled by the dirty hands which held them. Fastidious by nature, Victoire dumped the whole back into the waiting basket and washed her hands once more before returning to sort through the notes and cards.

Prayers, some Protestant and some bearing the image of a Papist saint. At least those were well-intentioned, she thought, casting a cursory glance over the sentiments. Petitions. So much unhappiness, and all of it brought on themselves, she thought without pity. Criminals seeking mercy, debtors claiming relief. Some of these must be from the upper classes, perhaps the members themselves, or their close relations, judging by the careful handwriting and costly stationery.

She picked up a small printed volume – of poetry, it appeared – its curious title imprinted on the cover. ’ _The Child Of The Islands_ ’. Tucked inside was an envelope which had already been opened, addressed in block letters to “HRH Prince William”. It was empty save for another, smaller envelope inscribed to _Her Majesty Queen Victoria._ That one was firmly sealed, and Victoire picked at the wax with her nail. Within, curiously, was a folded letter that was not new, judging by the furred creases. It was written on a different paper, the hand angular and difficult to read, especially to one for whom cursive English did not come easily. She got out of bed once more and moved the lamp to shine more closely on the writing, now curious why someone would send an _old_ letter to the Queen. No petition here, then. It was dated 24 May. _This past spring?_ she wondered, casting her mind back to that period. When Lord Melbourne had been traveled to Melbourne Hall, and Victoria was her usual restless self in his absence. Unsure why she’d thought immediately of that, the Duchess pored over the difficult cribbed handwriting.  

 

> _“I have never mentioned money to you; and I hardly like to do it now; your feelings have been so galled that they have naturally become very sore and sensitive that I knew how you might take it. I have had at times a great mind to send you some, but I feared to do so. As I trust we are now on terms of confidential and affectionate friendship, I venture to say, that you have nothing to do but express a wish and it shall instantly be complied with. I miss you, I miss your society and conversation every day at the houses at which I was accustomed to enjoy them; and when you say that your place was easily supplied you indulge in a little vanity and self-conceit. You know well enough there is no one who can fill your place. W.”_

Another few lines, in an elegant feminine hand, were written on a separate scrap of paper, torn from an embossed sheet.   

 

> _“Victoria – please accept this advance copy of my newest work. It was written with your son in mind. I have included a letter our William wrote to me, so you should not be the latest in a long line of deceived women, each of us believing ourselves to hold a special place in his heart. You are fortunate that you, at least, do not depend on any man for your standing in the world. If your son is not the child of our late Prince Albert, as Melbourne boasts, then he has a half-brother. Should you wish the boys to meet, I would be delighted to comply with any arrangements you care to make. At present my Brin spends most of his time in Ireland but I believe a strong fraternal connection in London would overturn that arrangement._
> 
> _ever your faithful servant,_
> 
> _Caroline Norton”_

The Duchess of Kent saw her hand tremble so violently the papers bounced and fluttered perilously close to the flame. For a moment she considered consigning them there. There was a time when she would have welcomed, exulted in even, this proof of his infidelity. But she knew her daughter’s happiness and even her destiny depended on domestic harmony. Drina had given herself body and soul to this man. And to be fair, Victoire conceded that Lord Melbourne loved Victoria. But he was a man, first and last, and when one married for love, the ability to accept these things as inevitable fled. She thought back to her grandson’s sleepy questions about a brother and felt herself gag, certain for a moment she would vomit where she stood. Had this _creature_ , this _schlampe_ , imposed her bastard on the Prince of England? In public? A child, an _infant_ of four? No wonder he wanted his soldier back, that big Irish lord who worshiped at Drina’s feet, if the heir to the throne could not be otherwise protected from having such _drek_ thrust upon him.

 _What do to? Oh, what to do? Mein Gott, what to do?_ Victoire paced back and forth, so agitated her bound curls danced on her head. Hide this from Drina and risk a permanent estrangement, if she ever discovered her mother had withheld it? Show it to Drina and be the cause of upheaval, unhappiness, even – her mind could scarcely form the word – _divorce_? A _divorced_ woman as the Head of the Church of England? Such a thing could not be, it was verbotten. Go to _him_ , to the author of all this misery, a man married to a Queen, to a woman more than young enough to be his daughter who still couldn’t resist the lure of a _nutte –_ and then put it in writing? If she could forgive him his lechery and duplicity, she could never forgive such stupidity. Victoire recalled the breach with her own brother, who had foreseen just such a thing. She had turned her back on him, to defend this _dreckskerl?_  She burned with remorse for her own poor judgment, for allowing her sympathy for her daughter and – truth be told – growing partiality for Melbourne to overcome both family loyalty and trust in Leopold’s wiser head.

While the Queen slept in her husband’s arms her fever seemed to break and perspiration soaked her hair as she threw off her covers. Melbourne awoke, suddenly aware that a corner had been turned, and he permitted himself to hope she would soon be on the mend. Meanwhile, the Prince of Wales fussed in his sleep, calling out and thrashing about against some unseen interloper who kept appearing to take his place. No Baroness Lehzen appeared to soothe him, and so each time he awoke he struggled to resist falling back asleep, afraid of dreaming. And the Duchess of Kent paced, prisoner to her own racing thoughts.

_Solomon's Seal: Secrets_


	17. Chapter 17

Bearded Crepis

Her Majesty’s Privy Council was in session. Peel had in fact not been wrong when he claimed matters demanding immediate attention necessitated that session of Parliament open on schedule.

The assembled Council, Melbourne included, had been in session for several hours and promised to go on at least several more. They met in the Palace and as much as Melbourne had wanted to treat his appointment as a pro forma nod to his role as a politically neutered quasi-royal, when the moment came to take his oath all urges toward flippancy had fled. He knew himself to be an ardent Royalist – such devotion far preceding his devotion to this _particular_ sovereign – and a secret sentimentalist as well, no matter how he strove to affect an air of nonchalance.

Kneeling before his Queen, kissing hands, reciting and affirming the secret oath had brought tears to his eyes which were only partially due to the fact that it was his own darling Victoria to whom he swore allegiance.

_You do swear by Almighty God to be a true and faithful Servant unto the Queen's Majesty, as one of Her Majesty's Privy Council. You will not know or understand of any manner of thing to be attempted, done, or spoken against Her Majesty's Person, Honour, Crown, or Dignity Royal, but you will let and withstand the same to the uttermost of your Power, and either cause it to be revealed to Her Majesty Herself, or to such of Her Privy Council as shall advertise Her Majesty of the same. You will, in all things to be moved, treated, and debated in Council, faithfully and truly declare your Mind and Opinion, according to your Heart and Conscience; and will keep secret all Matters committed and revealed unto you, or that shall be treated of secretly in Council. And if any of the said Treaties or Counsels shall touch any of the Counsellors, you will not reveal it unto him, but will keep the same until such time as, by the Consent of Her Majesty, or of the Council, Publication shall be made thereof. You will to your uttermost bear Faith and Allegiance unto the Queen's Majesty; and will assist and defend all Jurisdictions, Pre-eminences, and Authorities, granted to Her Majesty, and annexed to the Crown by Acts of Parliament, or otherwise, against all Foreign Princes, Persons, Prelates, States, or Potentates. And generally in all things you will do as a faithful and true Servant ought to do to Her Majesty. So help you God._

That the profundity exceeded those of the marriage vows he’d taken to this same woman did not escape him. When he so swore, he’d never meant any promise so whole-heartedly in his life.

The solemnity of that moment never fully faded from memory, but at times like this, when the fourth man in a row speechified over a matter which was so self-evident it should require no discussion at all, Melbourne unsuccessfully fought to suppress a natural inclination toward levity. They were engaged in drafting legislation to enjoin an observance of the Sabbath in Hong Kong and he found little enough to hold his attention, considering it a matter for churchmen and not Her Majesty’s Council.

The report on Chusan and concurrent re-examination of China policy had been ratified in September’s session and transmitted to the Lords of the Treasury, yet it reappeared so they could tweak the wording for no apparent benefit, save the addition of a comparison between Hong Kong and Chusan.

Reserved for last because it promised to be most contentious, if perhaps a trifle more enlivening, was the discussion of licensing of opium-smoking shops in Hong Kong. That promised some dissension. Melbourne himself had no strong feelings in either direction but at the behest of the Queen – which was, after all, his primary role at Council, speaking for the Crown – he would have to come down on the side of prohibition. Victoria’s puritanical upbringing by the daughter of a minister reared itself from time to time, and her feelings about enabling, if not encouraging, the use of a narcotic to pacify the population of one of Her Majesty’s colonies were to be communicated most emphatically. Sir Henry Pottinger, the most recent council appointee and past Governor of Hong Kong, was champing at the bit to speak on that subject and Melbourne eyed him suspiciously, dreading as he always did any man bringing an excess of sensibility to political debate.

When they adjourned to take refreshment, several men buttonholed Melbourne to ask about the Queen. He assured them she was recovering nicely from no more than a minor malady, stretching the truth a bit, but not in any way which concerned them. No sooner had they reconvened than the Duke of Buccleuch, Lord Privy Seal, interrupted the agenda to propose a measure commending the Prince of Wales for his appearance to open Parliament. That caused a general uproar as every man present wished to extend his congratulations to Her Majesty. Lord Wharncliffe, President of the Council, directed Greville, the secretary, to record their congratulatory statement and include a commendation for Lord Melbourne.

“It did you no harm either, Melbourne,” Buccleuch said in an aside. “Any residual misgiving about your – er – alliance with the Queen was allayed in seeing you with the boy. A young widow, a fatherless boy: you’ve shown yourself up to the task of selflessly acting as their protector. Well done, man, well done.”

Melbourne considered and discarded several responses, unsure precisely what he was being commended for, but held his tongue and accepted the general acclaim. He had no intention of calling out the irony of being congratulated for protecting and parenting his own son, and had almost resigned himself to the fact that he would forever be Prince William’s stepfather in the eyes of the world.

“Might there be a happy announcement coming from Her Majesty, Lord Melbourne?” Greville asked bluntly.

Melbourne looked up at him blankly.  “Another prince or princess expected any time soon?” Greville prodded. Melbourne laughed easily.

“Not so far as Her Majesty’s told me, sir. But if I hear otherwise you will be the first I tell.” They all laughed good-naturedly. As the discussion returned to Hong Kong Melbourne thought about the Secretary’s question. Would he like another child? Not at any risk to Victoria, certainly. That concern aside, he thought he couldn’t say no. The two in the nursery gave him endless delight, a source of unlooked-for happiness in his later years, but seeing Victoria gravid with a baby, his baby, had been the source of illimitable joy when experienced only in secret. As a man, the idea of openly proclaiming his fatherhood was the most wonderful of prospects. Not one he was likely to experience, however; after the injuries she’d sustained in the assassination attempt, doctors had warned of the perils of another pregnancy, if she was even able to conceive. Two children, two beautiful healthy children, whether he could claim them or not, were quite enough. To even dare think of more seemed like tempting fate.

It was past three o’clock when the Council finally adjourned. Melbourne stood at the door as host, having a final word with each of the councilors as they made their way out, pleased with the rare approbation coming from each of them regardless of party or persuasion.

Those few of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting on duty had congregated in her drawing room so they could be close at hand if she awoke and wanted to play cards or otherwise find some pleasing distraction. Melbourne greeted them all courteously, giving his niece a kiss on the cheek and bowing over Emma Portman’s hand.

“Her Majesty is resting,” Lady Portman informed him. “Baroness Lehzen has admonished us more than once to be quiet, lest we disturb her.”

Melbourne inclined his head, smiling slightly. “Then why are you all assembled out here? One, two, three – “ he counted to six. “Surely you have something else to occupy you?”

Lady Portman shrugged speakingly. “Baroness Lehzen ordered us to remain in case the Queen wished for diversion.”

That made Melbourne laugh out loud. “Well, I am here and will endeavor to divert the Queen to the best of my ability. In fact, I will relieve the Baroness of her vigil. She is sorely in need of rest herself, I suspect. Has the Queen’s mother been in to see her?”

“The Duchess has taken ill. She sent word she will be confined to her bed and does not wish to be disturbed,” Lady Portman informed him. Melbourne frowned.

“I do hope the Queen’s illness does not prove contagious. Liam awoke in the night unsettled and I thought he might be sickening. I’ve been in Council all day. Emma, can I ask you to stop in at the nursery to inquire after Liam’s health while I visit the Queen?”

“Of course, William. Go in to her. Shall we wait in case you are ejected?” Emma Portman’s narrow lips tightened into an approximation of a smile. Melbourne smiled back at her teasing.

“That won’t be necessary, Emma. I am not so easily ejected.”

When Melbourne entered Lehzen was sitting bedside, reading to Victoria from a worn Bible. She looked up when he entered, her face creasing with displeasure.

“Baroness, you must be exhausted. Please leave us now and go rest. You will be no good to the Queen if you sicken yourself.” He used a soft tone and his best, most coaxing smile. The dour governess opened her mouth to speak and seemingly thought better of it, leaning over Victoria and murmuring something in German before making her curtsy.

When they were alone Victoria pushed herself up to a seated position and laughed gaily. “Oh Lord M, poor Lehzen would not leave me rest and would not – stop – reading Psalms. All – afternoon.” She collapsed into gales of laughter which ended in a harsh fit of coughing. “See how I am punished? Truly I am not mocking her, I know she loves me and wants to comfort me but –“ Victoria bounced up and on her knees, opened both arms. “-but I want my husband’s comfort now.”

Melbourne went into her arms willingly enough, and through the thin fabric of her gown felt her breasts pressing against his chest and the lack of fever burning through her skin. He stepped back to shrug off his close-fitting coat and roll up his shirtsleeves before climbing onto the bed beside her.

“And how do you suggest I comfort you, ma’am? Since the Psalms have been covered, do you prefer Old or New Testament?”

Victoria giggled and straddled his lap, sitting so she faced him. He looked down at the expanse of taut thighs revealed where her gown had hiked up, stroking the soft skin from knee to hip. Victoria painstakingly untied his cravat and opened the top buttons on his shirt, pausing at intervals to kiss him. Melbourne cupped her bottom in both hands and squeezed, making her giggle and moan.

“You are not afraid of catching what I have?” She asked, leaning back against his palms.

“Mmm-mmm. I would very much like to _catch_ what you _have_ ,” He teased, nibbling gently at her lip. Victoria ran her fingers through his hair, twisting random curls on her finger.

“Do you know how often I wanted to do this? Before I could?” He pretended to consider the question.

“No, I do not. And what do you mean, before you could? I am the Queen’s liege man, body and soul. I think that means you could do what you would with my body. Did I never explain the doctrine of _droit de seigneur_? How remiss of me! That should have been the first thing we covered.”

“Do you mean I always had the privilege of doing this?” She stroked his soft curly hair. “And this?” She tilted her head and kissed him full on the mouth, teasing with her tongue as he had taught her. “Or…this?” Victoria trilled the very tip of her tongue over the soft hollow in his neck and down his chest. “Or this?” She lifted her hips slightly and lowered them again, rubbing herself against the bulge straining at his breeches. “Or this?” She took one of his hands from her hip and used his finger to stroke herself, a circling motion he continued when she unbuttoned his placket and freed him. “Or this?” Holding him in her hand, erect, seeking, she rubbed herself against him, using the beads of clear fluid at the tip to advantage. Melbourne leaned back, breath quickening, content to let her take the lead. “Or this?” Victoria lifted herself and guided him into her.

**

“Yet again, ma’am, I find myself fully clothed. We are making a habit of this.” He lay back, head pillowed on his crossed arms, smiling. Victoria still lay atop him, not wanting to feel him withdraw, her legs closed to contain him. She had thrown off her gown, enjoying the feel of his clothing rough against her skin. When she told him so Melbourne laughed. “Perhaps you belong in a harem, ma’am,” he said. “Naked _houris_ serving the master.”

“Not if you mean to use the plural, Lord M. I am the _only_ naked _houri_ in this harem.” She stroked the sharp contours of his face and he savored the feel of her fingertip exploration. “So handsome, so devastatingly handsome. And all mine.”

“All yours,” he whispered, voice full of love. “All yours. You are all I need.”

Inevitably he slipped from her, and when he did Victoria moved to lay beside him, covering herself with part of the sheet.

“So…how are you feeling, truly? Considerably better, I assume?”

“Yes, much better, thank you,” she responded, reverting naturally as she sometimes did to the form of a polite little girl addressing her elder. “I am still wobbly when I try to move about. My legs don’t quite want to hold me yet and my head pains me until I sleep for a while.”

“Then don’t move about yet. Your strength will return if you give it time. And I am content to wait on you here. As all your ministers would be, if only they knew what I do.” Victoria giggled. “How is your mother? Emma said she was ill.”

“Mama?” Victoria sounded surprised. “Lehzen did not tell me. Did she contract my lung inflammation?”

“I don’t know. We can send the physician to see her. She was fine last night. I sat with Liam for a while and she was in the nursery.”

“Oh, how was he? Exhausted from his day? I must hear all about it from him. Let’s send for him later.”

They talked about inconsequential matters while they lay in each other’s arms, Melbourne recounting the highlights and lowlights of the Council meeting, Victoria asking astute questions and contributing those bits of gossip she’d gleaned during the few minutes some of her ladies had been allowed in to sit with her.

“Will you dine with the Household, William? If Mama is also ill…”

“Must I? I’d prefer to send for something and stay here. I’m quite content to not move from this spot tonight…or tomorrow or…”

Victoria laughed softly. “I think you must. We can’t have the entire family absent at once, you know. You may take Emma in, rather than one of my younger attendants.”

“Ouch!” Melbourne pretended to wince. “I don’t think Emma would much appreciate that sentiment, ma’am. I shan’t tell her you view her as harmless or she will be quite put out.”

“Nonsense. She’s so clearly infatuated with you she is far from harmless. But she had her chance. Now you are mine.” Victoria held her hand up, displaying her wedding band. “And she is my friend.”

“Yes.” Melbourne kissed the finger wearing his ring. “She is your friend and mine. Our very good friend. And she is _not_ infatuated with me. She scolds me as mercilessly as Emily does, and bosses me about just as much.” He disentangled himself from Victoria and rose. “I suppose I must dress for dinner. Might I have permission to attend you later?”

“What if I say no?” Victoria stretched her limbs languidly.

“Then I will break down the door, ma’am. I will not be kept from my wife.” Victoria laughed and blew him a kiss.

“Oh and William? Will you please check on Mama? See if she needs a physician. Please give her my love and tell her I am concerned. Staying in bed all day is not like her.”

**

The Duchess of Kent was not in bed, nor was she ill according to any medical standard. When Lord Melbourne entered her apartment expecting to be greeted by one of her Household he surprised the Duchess herself, sitting in the dark in a chaise.

He had enlisted Emma Portman to walk with him to the North wing, where the Duchess of Kent was domiciled. He’d never ventured into her territory before, there had been no reason, but Melbourne knew she still occupied the distant apartments Victoria had assigned her while Conroy was about. He wondered whether she would prefer something closer to the family.

Melbourne was surprised to see no page standing in the corridor to announce him, and further dismayed by the generally shabby look of this little-used corridor. _No_ , he thought, _this will never do._ _Even though she spends little time here, this is not fitting._ Victoria undoubtedly hadn’t ventured this far in years. Their reapproachment complete, Victoire spent most of her time in the family wing, in the Queen’s drawing room, the nursery, and of course dined with the household. Still, Melbourne resolved to talk to the Lord Chamberlain about finding some more appropriate rooms for the Queen Mother.

Emma Portman looked at him, clearly sharing his thoughts on the forsaken atmosphere, and stepped forward to knock sharply before opening the door.

“Your Highness? This is Emma Portman. I am here with Lord Melbourne,” she called out, thinking the darkened drawing room unoccupied, intending that her voice carry to the bedchamber beyond.

“Lady Portman? Lord Melbourne? What do you want with me?” As their eyes became accustomed to the gloom both saw the Queen’s mother on her chaise, sitting in the dark quite alone.

“Your Highness, the Queen asked we check on you. You’d sent message to us you were ill earlier,” Emma Portman spoke.

“Ach, I am not ill. I just wish to be left alone today. I do not wish for the company,” the Duchess of Kent responded, her thick accent more pronounced, glottal consonants pre-eminent and the thick palatal fricative she’d struggled to lose reappearing.

“May I light a candle, Your Highness?” Emma asked, already in the process of doing so.

Once the immediate darkness was dispelled, they could see the Duchess had not permitted the services of her dresser. Her fine hair hung about her shoulders and her thin, wan face was devoid of powder. Her pale blue eyes looked both weary and sharply vigilant, fixed on Melbourne.

“I will send word to Drina that I have recovered from a simple headache. That should suffice. Now, please –“

“Duchess, are you truly well? We can send for a physician or – or if you wish to talk to Lady Portman privately, I can leave.” Melbourne realized that she had made no real friends at the English Court, had had no companionship except for her daughter and her long-exiled Comptroller. He had often thought what a bleak, lonely life she must live. _Little wonder she had welcomed her nephew to court with such eagerness and longed for her brother’s visits._

The Duchess looked up at Melbourne, her eyes narrowing, and he was both confused and appalled by the hostility burning there. She looked down at her lap and back up at him, then shifted her gaze briefly to Emma Portman.

“Very well. I have been praying for guidance on how to proceed and you yourself appear. So I must think this is my answer.”

Victoire stood suddenly, waving a hand toward the two gilded Georgian chairs, cast-offs from the main rooms in the Palace. In bare feet, she was scarcely taller than her daughter, back very straight under a Chinese silk wrapper.

“I am going to travel to Belgium, I think. I will not return very soon.”

“Why, Duchess? Has something happened? Please, talk to us.” Melbourne inclined his head, studying her. She returned his scrutiny, unsmiling, her features harsh.

“I do not want to be in the middle of this. Whatever I do it will be - I thought – well, it does not matter what I thought. Do you see this? This _drek_?”

She picked up a small volume from the side table and waved it in front of them, right under Melbourne’s nose. He could scarcely make out the lettering on the front, so quickly did it pass, but he was sure he’d never seen the book before. More confused than ever, he began to feel annoyed with the Duchess and her histrionics.

“This, and _this_ –“ she picked up several small sheets of paper. “Was given to my grandson at the Parliament opening. In spite of all the ‘security’ and what you called ‘vetting’ a little boy was given this _merde,_ this _shit_ from your – how do you say in English? I have not had occasion to use such words. – your _whore_.”

She dumped the whole onto the small table which stood between Melbourne and Emma Portman.

“I am not a naïve woman, Lord Melbourne. I knew about Madame St. Laurent, about my brother’s dancers…I know what men are. But what kind of _schwachkopf_  puts himself in your position, over and over and over?”

Melbourne had quickly read and recognized the letter, scanned the brief accompanying note. He rose so that he towered over his mother-in-law.

“One who has nothing to hide, Your Highness? This is not what it appears.” He indicated the letter in his own hand.

“May 24th, Lord Melbourne. You were married to the Queen of England when you wrote that!”

Improbably, Melbourne had to tighten his lips to keep from smiling. Most inappropriate, he knew, but then his tendency to resort to levity at the most inopportune times had long  been a weakness.

“Ma’am, that letter was written in 1836. Long before I met Victoria.”

The Duchess of Kent paused, her mouth dropping open in an O as she visibly struggled with whether to believe him.

“This is true?” She looked at him piercingly, her expression almost pathetically eager to believe.

“And the rest? That there is a child and _das uneheliche Kind_ declared himself to your – to the Prince?”

Melbourne blanched, and all amusement fled.

“Please, explain,” he demanded, no, implored. The Duchess did so, succinctly, both what she’d read and the later conversation she’d had with her grandson.

Emma Portman had been silent throughout. Not a demonstrative woman by nature and no particular friend of the Duchess, although they’d seen each other near-daily for years, her heart still went out to her. Emma stood and laid her hand on the Duchess’s arm, looking at her with sympathetic understanding. “What a terrible position this has put you in, Your Highness,” she blurted.

The Duchess looked at her with surprised gratitude. The harsh rigidity of her expression melted. Her lip trembled and her eyes filled. Resigning herself to the inevitable, Emma Portman held open her arms and received the Duchess, patting her back and murmuring consoling syllables. When the first storm of tears abated, the Queen’s mother looked at Lady Portman beseechingly.

“I cannot be the one to tell her and I can’t _not_ tell her either. What am I to do? Will _you_ talk to Drina?”

Lady Portman compressed her lips and looked away, entirely unwilling to extend sympathy that far.

“I am sorry beyond words that you find yourself involved in this.” Melbourne said gently. “I will speak to Victoria.”

“And are you sorry that my grandson was involved in your affairs? On a day he should remember with pride?”

“Yes. I am sorry that Liam was involved. Of course I am,” his voice broke, betraying him. “May I?” He indicated the book and papers. “I’ve never seen this book. If necessary we will find a way to block publication in England.”

“You will not destroy the _evidence_ , Lord Melbourne? You will go to Drina? You will tell her – you will explain this away?”

He sighed deeply, already dreading the prospect yet knowing he had no other choice in the matter. How she would respond was out of his control. And on top of all the rest, as unpleasant as it was, lay the simple fact that he’d been entrusted with the heir to the throne at a public event and failed to protect him. He’d allowed his tiny son to be accosted by someone who meant him, if not harm precisely, then certainly no good. That too he would atone for.

“I will try, ma’am. Victoria does not have to face this alone. Nor is it – “ he swallowed hard, not wanting to sound flippant. “ – nor is it as serious as it appears. I’ve never been unfaithful to your daughter, ma’am, and in no way can _our_ child be affected by these ludicrous assertions. He inherits through Victoria and is legally the son of her husband. Therefore, nothing this woman alleges can affect him.”

His mind flickered briefly to Norton’s preposterous allegation, that he had fathered her second son. She’d persisted in that claim for years, since before the boy’s birth, and her husband had been easily convinced. Melbourne himself had more than a little doubt - he had not been her only lover and she was still having marital relations with her husband - but it mattered not. He’d declined then to recognize the boy, even at the height, or more accurately, _depth_ of their affair and he would continue to do so. She had likewise publicly proclaimed herself innocent of adultery, not once but a hundred times. Would she really brand herself a liar and adulteress in her determination to pursue him? English law narrowly restricted internecine bastardy claims, and just as he could never claim Liam - much as he wanted to - neither could George Norton repudiate Brinsley.

As far as Melbourne was concerned, the issue was closed and he was livid that her renewed assertions, clearly designed to impossibly establish some relationship between her brat and the Prince of Wales, had dared involve Liam.  _George_ _Norton had fought ferociously enough in court to retain custody of all three children – what could she hope to gain now, save to wrest the child from his putative father with no purpose save her own selfish ends?_

“Then what does she want, Lord Melbourne? Why go to such lengths to poison my Drina’s mind? Her – her love for you?” The Duchess laid her hand on his forearm. He tried to read her thoughts. As if to help him, she continued. “I do not want to see trouble such as this between you. Drina is –“ her hand fluttered in a vague gesture. “- she feels things very intensely. She needs something to believe in, and that something is you. To her you are all that is good. She sees things in black and white, all good or all bad. In truth we are sometimes both.” She paused. “Except that woman. _She_ is all bad.”

“Indeed, Your Highness.” His mouth quirked in a small smile. “I am aware.”

“I will go to Victoria and I will tell her about this.” Melbourne hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “Since the trouble with this woman is not easily going to go away, it is important that Victoria discover she is strong enough to disregard it. I don’t ask her to trust me, if she cannot. But I would like her to learn to trust herself. She need not ever fear someone like Caroline Norton. She need not think she has to face this alone. It is my duty, and my honor, to protect her, and she is fortunate to have a mother who likewise protects her.

“And, Your Highness…if I may…please do not travel to Belgium, not just yet at any rate. You are needed here.”

_Bearded Crepis: Protection_


	18. Chapter 18

Primrose

Melbourne slipped into his apartment quietly, hearing no sound from the Queen’s bedchamber. He had hoped she would be up, perhaps entertained by her attendants or otherwise engaged. He dreaded the prospect of rousing his convalescing wife from sleep to have a difficult conversation. Knowing Victoria’s penchant for emotional storms, he feared a return of the fever if she became exceedingly upset. More probable was the likelihood of Victoria withdrawing once more behind a cool impenetrable mask. That, he would not allow. Because he could not bear losing her in plain sight once more, and because always, somewhere on the periphery of his consciousness, was the knowledge that it was his duty to prepare her for _after_. After she inevitably lost him, after he was taken through infirmity or death. She must be strong, for life was not always kind and there would come a time he would not be there. It was a bitter realization, but he would ignore it at her peril. As he did so often, Melbourne wished desperately – and if he’d been a religious man, he would have prayed – for some impossible way to turn back time and align their lives to give him so much more time with her. Time he’d wasted, squandered, even cursed at his lowest ebb. Time that was now, because of Victoria, infinitely precious to him.

But that was then, he told himself, and this was now. _Now_ , when he must tell her as best he could what trouble was brewing and they must devise a strategy to counter it. _They_ , both of them together. _That was the key thing she had to understand_ , that it was _their_ problem and he was her ally, not an adversary.

His valet helped him undress and hovered about, brushing his coat, gathering linens, until he dismissed the man. Then he pulled on his dressing gown and picked up the small vase filled with cheerful yellow blossoms he’d had sent from the greenhouses of Buckingham to brighten her room _._

Melbourne paused, making sure his breathing was steady and his posture relaxed, and heard her barking, wheezing cough. The physicians said the cough would resolve itself gradually, that the fever and lung inflammation had posed the greatest risk, but it still sounded painful.

When the spell passed she waited for her breathing to steady itself and took another gulp of the laudanum prescribed to sooth the worst of the paroxysm, washing its extreme bitterness down with a gulp of water. When Victoria saw him she tossed back her long hair and received his flowers with a show of pleasure.

“Primroses, ma’am.”

“Primroses. ‘ _I can’t live without you_ ,’” Victoria ducked her head, smiling shyly. “As I can’t.”

“How are you feeling tonight?” Melbourne asked.

“I’m fine, truly, much better except for this cough, and still so very tired. I sound like the seals we once saw when Mama took me to the Zoological Society of London. Why have we never taken Liam? Oh, we must do so. I loved seeing the animals.”

Melbourne laughed, knowing her to be slightly giddy from the effects of the laudanum. She looked so impossibly young and fragile in the great State bed, dwarfed by a towering crested headboard, hair flowing, virginal in her white lace gown. He was severely tempted to put off telling her the latest, at least until morning, better yet until she was fully recovered and less vulnerable, more formidable. Not that she was ever anything _but_ vulnerable to him, he knew, the price she paid for putting her heart in his hands.

“What is it?” Victoria asked suddenly, with that perspicacity bordering on raw intuition – at least where he was concerned – which always startled Melbourne. “Is something wrong?”

“Not catastrophically, no. But… I do need to talk to you.”

Victoria’s eyes narrowed and her spine stiffened. “I think I would like to get up. We will go into the sitting room.”

“If you wish,” Melbourne said easily. “But there’s no need to exert yourself. May I?” He reached her bed in several quick paces and waited for permission to sit. Victoria hesitated, frowning already, before she acquiesced. He sat behind her and picked up a hairbrush from the bedside table.  Lifting the heavy mass of tangled waves, drawing the brush through, using his fingers to part obstreperous knots had never failed to soothe her. Gradually he saw her shoulders go down, her posture relax, and she allowed herself to lean into his ministrations.

“I’ve just learned that during Liam’s walk through the Commons area yesterday, among those guests the Members had invited …Caroline Norton arranged to have a letter and a volume of her poetry delivered.”

“What?” Victoria squeaked. She began coughing, doubling over, hugging her arms to her stomach to brace herself. Melbourne rubbed her back as she gasped for air.

“Delivered how?” She croaked when she could speak again.

“Someone handed Liam a packet while people were pressing gifts and small tokens on him.  As soon as Liam received whatever was handed him it was passed to a page. Your mother went through the basket and sorted out everything obviously inappropriate – food, some questionable toys – and what remained were letters and cards. This was amongst them.”

Melbourne withdrew the bound volume from his pocket, with the two letters inside. He did not hand them over; he preferred to wait and see whether she wished to examine them. He held his breath, awaiting her reaction.

“So…no good news, I assume?” Victoria finally said. Melbourne arched a brow, surprised and pleased at the note of dry sarcasm. He let the packet slide back into his pocket and began braiding her hair, dividing it into three sections as he had for his younger sister when she was a little minx of five or six, determined to keep up with her brothers and impatient with her long curls. Victoria leaned into his touch slightly and he permitted himself to feel grateful. 

“No, not at all welcome,” he agreed companionably. They sat in silence, broken only by the intermittent coughs Victoria struggled to suppress, while Melbourne deftly wove sections of hair into a thick plait.

“My head hurts,” she said suddenly. “And my ribs. I fear I might break a rib from coughing, if I haven’t already. I should take more laudanum soon.”

Melbourne shifted slightly to ease his back, leaning against the headboard of the bed and stretching his legs out. He drew Victoria back with him so she rested against his chest and he propped his chin on her shoulder.

“Do you wish to see?” he whispered, lips close to her ear.

“Not particularly, but I suppose I must. Tell me first so I can prepare myself.”

“A letter which I wrote to Caroline in 1836, shortly before the trial. It is…affectionate, I suppose, but hardly salacious. Not something I’d particularly want you to see if I had a choice but certainly not a- a love letter.”

“Then should I see it?” Victoria asked simply. _Trusting him?_ He wondered. _Or a test?_                   

“Yes, I suppose you should. If not, you would only imagine worse.” But she made no move to ask for it, and he did not offer, willing to let her lead.

“What else?”

“A note to you. Warning you that I’m a cad, or words to that effect. And…her newest attempt to make trouble, what I suspect is the whole point of this escapade.” Melbourne sighed and tightened his arms around her. “She has periodically claimed that at least her middle son, and at times – depending on what benefit she hopes to receive from whom – her youngest were fathered by me.” Victoria inhaled sharply, causing her to cough once more. With slow, deliberate movements she poured laudanum into one glass, water into another and, grimacing, swallowed down the medicine followed by water. Then she carefully set everything back in place, each movement very precise, and sat back, this time not allowing herself to lean on him.

“And are they?” Victoria asked calmly, not looking at him.

“No,” he answered shortly. “She had other lovers at the same time, and she was still living – and sleeping – with Norton as well. We did not often engage in that particular act when we were together. Her tastes ran in other directions.” Melbourne saw Victoria’s pained expression and also her determination to master it. Good girl, he thought. 

“But there is some chance?” Victoria’s voice dropped and her eyes raised, meeting his squarely.

Melbourne shrugged. “Biologically, I suppose some chance. But I refused to acknowledge them then and she has denied any affair, screamed it to the heavens, so the matter is closed. Norton has asserted his rights as their father often enough in court. I have no further interest or involvement.”

“And she raises this now because she thinks it will bring you back to her if she can persuade you?” Victoria’s tone was puzzled, but still calm, far calmer than Melbourne had hoped.

“No, she knows me better than that. I think she hopes to drive a wedge between us and embarrass you into the bargain. Which won’t happen because I won’t let it. We’ll face this annoyance _together_ and decide how to deal with it together.” Melbourne looked at Victoria solemnly, willing her to place her trust in him. After hesitating a moment, looking as though she were deep in thought, Victoria reached out a hand.

“Show me.”

Melbourne watched her read Caroline’s brief note, and then the longer letter in handwriting she knew as well as her own. He saw every bit of her hurt and distaste, reflected on her guileless face, and it made him ache.

“She wanted me to think this was written recently, didn’t she?” Victoria asked, when she’d refolded the notes.

“I think so. Or hoped, at any rate.”

“You were…you were fond of her? It sounds as though you were, as though it was not merely a…physical connection.”

“I was not in love with her,” he answered simply. “I know the difference. I knew it then.”

“Yet you say you missed her. You maintained some connection despite the scandal, and stayed in touch long after. Why, if you did not love her?”

Melbourne allowed his gaze to travel over her beautiful face, large blue eyes, the rounded cheeks still so like the child she had recently been juxtaposed with a startlingly elegant jawline. Innocence. Adoration. For how long had those things so essentially Victoria sustained him? He couldn’t remember now what it had been like before she filled his world.

“She was an amusing woman, witty, sharp-tongued,” he said slowly, his voice so low Victoria strained to hear it. “An angry woman, too. Always angry, always sure she was being put upon, quick to criticize. She felt as though she did not receive her due as one of the Sheridan sisters, the ‘three Graces’, a famous beauty, married to a very average man. Not enough money to live as she thought she deserved, no title.” Melbourne laughed. “She and George were an odd couple, to be sure. So she pushed for his advancement and looked to me to secure it.” He fell silent and Victoria continued to watch him, waiting. Finally, resigned, he continued.

“So yes, I liked her company well enough, and was flattered, I suppose, that she made her preference for me clear, even when her salon was filled with younger, more talented men all vying for a place in her bed.”

 _How could he explain the rest?_ Melbourne wondered.

“We were…uniquely suited in some ways, I suppose. She was always angry and I rarely allowed myself to be. She knew just how to tap into that, to unleash all the anger, the resentment, the bitterness I thought I’d buried. She…enjoyed seeing me angry. It…excited her.”

Victoria moved out of his embrace, turned to face him, sitting on her haunches. Her brows were furrowed as she studied him intently.

“So you…argued with her? And that was enjoyable for both of you? That….I don’t understand, to me that makes no sense.”

Melbourne laughed a little, but it was a brittle, hollow sound. “I’ve told you there are women who – well, I shouldn’t say ‘women’ for if there are others who go to her extreme, I have not met them – she was greatly excited by pushing a man to the brink of losing control. To inciting such anger that it mixes with…passion…not the sort of love play which some engage in, spanking and such –“ Victoria’s eyes flew wide open in shock, but he ignored her and continued. “-not against her will, you understand, not truly – I’m not such a monster as that – but – unless she felt herself to be in danger she could not – respond and when she did she welcomed – brutality, extreme roughness and that could be very exciting. Addictive. To – to a man such as me, who strives to never lose control, such darkness can be…very exciting. Freeing, liberating. Like any strong addictive drug one vows to give up and then returns to over and over. I was in a dark place. I’d lost Caro and Augustus and…I suppose it was a relief to tap into anger to escape the depression that had hold of me. Now – through you I’ve been given a reason to live, a second chance at happiness, and I want nothing more to do with such things."

That was as far as he could go. Melbourne knew he would never, could never, find the words to more fully explain something he understood little enough himself. Victoria’s expression remained pensive.

“But I did not love her. I never loved her. I wasn’t even sure I liked her very well, certainly never less than after we – then, I was only disgusted by her and myself and would swear I’d never return.” He cupped her cheek in his hand. "What we do has absolutely nothing in common with  _that_ , Victoria. Nothing. You are my precious girl and I will never allow anything or anyone to hurt you."

Kneeling, sitting back on her legs, Victoria kept her head down, fingers tracing patterns on the fabric of his nightshirt, picking at threads aimlessly. When she finally looked up her expression was unreadable.

“Do you still miss those things you did with her, William? Long for them? Miss her, as you say in your letter? You wrote to her this year, William, after we were married. What did _those_ letters say?”

“I do not miss her,” he answered, aware it was only a partial answer. “The letters I wrote this year –I wish your uncle would have showed you – were nothing more than I would write to any friend. I thought that perhaps if she understood I was happy with you she would abandon her determination to wreck things. She said as much on several occasions, that she was content with friendship. I wrote of little things, harmless enough, or so I thought –writing of the children, my contentment with our life, odd happenings in our household. Nothing more. Ask Leopold to send you the damn things. He had them in his possession and only refused to show you so your imagination would run wild.”

Victoria crawled forward onto Melbourne’s lap and his arms went around her. She curled up like a child in his arms, much as Liam had done only the day before.

“Have you read the book? ’ _The Child Of The Islands_ ’. Dedicated to HRH the Prince of Wales. Our son.” Victoria turned it over, examining it from every side as though for clues without opening the cover.

“I have not. I have no appreciation for poetry and I always found hers rather…cryptic. She’s been called the female Byron and I find that rather appropriate, not in a complementary way.” His tone was dry and Victoria smirked at the small witticism.

“We will speak with the Crown attorney," Victoria said decisively. "I want all mention of the Prince of Wales removed, from the dedication and otherwise. If the content is…detrimental, we will explore ways of preventing publication, if there’s still time. Or have all copies seized, if they’ve already been printed.”

“Most definitely we can demand she omit mention of the Prince by name,” Melbourne agreed. “As for the rest, while I would personally strike the match to burn every last copy with her tied to the stake, I suspect she hopes for a ban. Nothing would increase sales more.”

“We can’t let a book come out that slanders us, or…”

“I know exactly what we face, sweetheart. I survived _Glenarvon_ and we will survive this. I only advise against any course which plays into her hands.”

Victoria sighed, her eyelids growing heavy. “Is that all? Is there any more calumny I should know about?”

Melbourne very much didn’t want to disturb her ease. He suspected he had laudanum to thank for at least some of her docility. “Yes…” he responded reluctantly, and told her about Liam having encountered the boy himself – Melbourne guessed it was Brinsley whom Caroline had sent – and being upset by his claim.

“Oh, no! William, how could anyone be so cruel as to ambush a baby with such wickedness? What will we tell him?”

“Not knowing the rest – your mother didn’t find the letters until later – I reminded him about Augustus and assured him he had no other brothers. He understands about the crazy people out there who fixate on you – the shooting was proof of that – and I hope he accepts this was just another instance.”

“Is _that_ all? Is there anything _else?_ William, if so, please don’t spare me, tell me now.” Victoria pressed herself against his chest, seeking reassurance as a child would, and he tightened his hold.

“Well, yes…one more thing, but we can discuss it tomorrow. I think your mother deserves a new apartment. She should be closer to us. It’s quite desolate where she is now.”

Melbourne held her in his lap, content to sit and listen to her breathe, enjoying the soft child-like sounds she made as she fell more deeply asleep. When he finally laid her down and drew the bedcovers up her hand gripped his as though she feared losing him while she slept. He gently disengaged her fingers and reached for Norton’s book. _The Honorable Mrs. Norton_ was printed on the first page and the sight of it made Melbourne snort with derision as he steeled himself for what he might find inside. He had to see just how bad it was.

_Primrose: I can't live without you._


	19. Chapter 19

Syrian Hibiscus

When Lord Melbourne strode into the breakfast room he brought with him the scent of outdoors, crisp leaves, cold air and a hint of tang from the wood fires burning to clear away underbrush in the Great Park. His small son skipped along beside him, the boy’s cheeks pink from the air.

He greeted those assembled – the Duchess, Emma Portman, Lady Lyttleton and several of the decorative and quite interchangeable young women of the court – and was secretly amused and gratified by the feminine fluttering his entrance provoked.

“Out and about so early, Lord Melbourne?” The Duchess of Kent looked at him over her cup of breakfast tea.

“Indeed. I am not normally so inclined but since the sky promises rain later I thought I’d take advantage of rising early.”

He lifted the covers of several chafing dishes and served himself before one of the footmen standing at attention could do so. Taking a plate and his coffee, Melbourne sat between the Duchess and Emma Portman and lifted Prince William onto his lap.

“And how is Her Majesty this morning?” Emma asked, communicating far more with the judicious lift of an eyebrow.

“Mending well, Emma, thank you. Her cough still prevents a good night’s rest but she has vowed to resist further bedrest. Her physicians should be examining her about now, and they will have a pitched battle on their hands if they try to insist she remain confined.” Melbourne met Emma’s gaze with calm good humor.

“And Duchess, how are you? No sign of whatever ailed the Queen, I hope? They say lung inflammation is not contagious but you sat with her a long while when she first came down with her fever.” He looked to his mother-in-law, his expression kind.

She denied illness and focused her attention on her the coffee she was pouring. When she raised her eyes, they were cautiously friendly.

“All is well with Drina then, Lord Melbourne?”

He understood her and did not take offense. “All is well, Duchess.” Melbourne deftly redirected her attention to the little boy on his lap, inviting him to describe the wildlife they’d seen in the Park and the groundskeepers they’d met. He was grateful for her support but not willing to discuss his marriage at the breakfast table.

The room cleared gradually, until only Emma remained – her dawdling on purpose, Melbourne surmised. Knowing she was about to delve into his personal affairs, he looked pointedly at his son.

“So…all is well indeed, William?” Lady Portman said archly as she sidled up to him.

“Yes,” Melbourne laughed. “I do wish everyone would quit asking that.”

“Since I’m generally involved in the aftermath of her tempests – or should I say, your crises? – I believe I’m entitled. What did she say? How did she react?”

“Emma, please –“ The prince was attempting to lure one of the Italian greyhounds with a piece of bacon. Lady Portman sniffed dismissively and Melbourne resigned himself to her interrogation. “Of course she wasn’t pleased. And I’m not entirely sure how she is processing this – she had questions for me, which I answered as best I could – but there is no schism. I wish nothing would ever happen to hurt her, Emma – I wish I could keep her safe from everything that could upset her – but that’s not realistic. All I can do is be with her so we face it together.”

“Did you at least tell her everything? So there are no new shocks?”

“I did the last time, except the ridiculous calumny about her son, which she herself denied in public more times than I can count. I can’t recite from memory every letter I ever wrote, every time I ever saw that woman, but I’ve told Victoria the extent of our involvement. I didn’t sugar coat or minimize it, I didn’t deny the affair. And I was never in love with that woman, which matters most to her. _You_ know that, Emma.”

“’In love’? No, I suppose you weren’t. Bewitched, hypnotized, addicted, in thrall…I’ve heard your obsession called all of that, and temporary insanity as well, but no one who knew you considered it love. I could attest to that. Even the gutter press found it a comedy rather than a tragedy.”

“She once wrote me that she lacked the ability to attach people to her and that was perhaps the most accurate insight she ever had.”

“Because she’s a bitch, William, a she-devil. That is why she cannot attach people to her, no matter how hard she tries. She can attract and seduce but that’s where it ends.” Emma Portman watched Melbourne’s reaction for a long while, and then, content with what she saw – or did not see – she reached up and kissed his cheek. “If someone were to burn that creature at the stake they would do us all a service. In the meantime, I am happy for you if your little Queen was not so much affected she forgot to see how much you love her.”

They looked up when a newcomer entered the room. Henry Holland, the senior attending physician overseeing Victoria’s care, greeted Melbourne cordially and spent several minutes discoursing with the little prince.

“Looking for me, Henry?” Melbourne prompted him.

“No, I am looking for coffee if you will offer me some. Her Majesty is being examined by my protégé. A formality only, judging by her impatience to be released from bed rest. One’s body is usually the best physician in these cases and I see no complications ahead for the Queen.”

“She still has the cough. It worsens at night and disrupts her rest,” Melbourne said.

“Her rest, or yours?” Holland laughed easily. “The cough will linger for a while. As long as the humours in the lungs do not thicken and constrict her breathing, it’s a natural progression. Of course I will oversee her care and we will return every other day – sooner if she needs attention – but barring some unforeseen occurrence, she will be fine.”

“Why aren’t you examining her?”

“Her Majesty’s preference. I take no offense. Her maid is with her.” Melbourne turned the information over in his mind and could find no cause to object. They chatted briefly, Melbourne inquiring after Lady Holland and promising he would visit as soon as he ventured back into town, extending an invitation to both Dr. Holland’s wife and his mother to accompany him to the next evening entertainment at the palace. The second physician joined them briefly and summarized his findings on the Queen’s health in single syllables, before abruptly announcing his departure.

“Emma, please take Liam to the nursery. I fear the Baroness will take umbrage if I encourage him to play hooky much longer.” He ruffled his son’s hair and kissed one soft cheek before departing for the Queen’s apartment.

Victoria was finishing her toilette when he came in. Her hair was up and smoothly confined in a chignon, that in combination with her off-the-shoulder gown lent her an air of Parisian elegance. A leaf pattern was traced in bronze threads against the forest green silk, matching the bronze filigree earrings which sparkled against her cheeks. Melbourne complimented her and Victoria’s eyes sparkled.

“I never thought I’d be _glad_ to wear a corset again but it feels so _good_ to be up and dressed.” She turned her face up and caught sight of her husband scrutinizing her closely. “Yes? Too much rouge?” She teased. “Is something amiss?”

“Not at all. You look lovely. Are you done here? May I escort you?” He offered his arm and Victoria rose, slipping her hand into his. She saw his look of surprise.

When they’d moved out of earshot of her maid, Victoria paused. “Is something wrong? Why do you keep looking at me so?”

“Not at all, ma’am. I - - I was unsure how you would feel this morning.” Seeing her look of incomprehension, Melbourne found himself at a sudden loss for words. “After our…discussion last night?”

Victoria tilted her head. “That? That _book_? That _woman_ seeing to torment us again?” She sighed. “I am not pleased. But…I am not…upset or angry at you. I won’t allow her to separate us again, which is what happened when I played into her hands – and Uncle Leopold’s, perhaps – the last time.” She moved to stand very closely in front of him and put both arms around his waist. “I want to learn to be less of a burden on you, William, and more of a partner. Whatever we do – and we must determine a course of action – we will do together.”

Melbourne pulled her even closer. “You, a burden? Never! You are my precious girl.” He lifted her chin and kissed her delicately. “I must not muss your hair or your Miss Skerrett will be angry with me. Now…have you urgent business or shall we take your mother to look for a suitable apartment near you?”

Hand in hand, they walked down the corridor housing the family apartments. The Duchess of Kent kept pace with her daughter. There were rooms down secondary hallways and entire apartments, dark and unused. Victoria exclaimed at how little of Buckingham House she had seen in the years since she’d taken it over as a primary residence.

“One goes where one needs to go. I’ve never actually explored,” she mused, by way of explanation. The Duchess blossomed in the company of her daughter, and in Victoria’s sunny good mood, and the two women had fun peeking under dust covers, exclaiming over ornate 18th century furniture, Georgian chairs which looked as uncomfortable to sit in as they were splendid in appearance, an excess of gilt and ormolu, and dingy pastel tapestries in sore need of cleaning. Melbourne strolled along behind them, smiling as he remembered how ecstatic was the first time he’d taken her to see this overblown, overpriced monstrosity.

When the Duchess settled on the suite she liked best Victoria turned to Melbourne. “I am sure Mr. Von Wettin has more than he can handle, working on the interiors of the new Houses of Parliament…do you think he would spare the time to come and oversee renovations here? Mama can’t move in until this space is modernized.”

“I am quite sure that if the Queen and the Queen Mother request his services, Mr. Barry will spare him at least some hours to comply.”

A page entered behind them and presented a silver tray on white-gloved hands. Melbourne took the calling card up and read it.

“I have a visitor,” Melbourne asked. “Duchess, I will speak to Von Wettin. Victoria?” She made haste to walk with him.

“William? Who is it?” Her voice had a sharp edge and was taut with concern. “Who is here without an appointment?”

“Palmerston, sweetheart. Who did you think?” Melbourne lifted her hand and kissed it. “At least he came to me so I didn’t have to go in search of him.”

“Will you – are you going to argue with him?”

“I will hear what he has to say. But I suspect he will merely prattle on about some incidental matters and hope I let bygones be bygones.” Melbourne sighed and rolled his eyes. “Which of course I will. Do you think less of me for it? Henry’s always going to be Henry – rash, impulsive, outspoken and with an ego as big as his head.” Victoria giggled. “And I love him and he loves me, and he’s my brother-in-law besides. I have no desire for a breech in our relationship. So…I will let it go. I made my feelings known to him and if necessary I will do so again but…do you think less of me, that I am not inclined to hold a grudge or stand on principle with him?”

“No! Of course not! I think more of you, that you do not need so act as foolishly arrogant and hard headed as some men think they must.” Victoria rose to his defense heatedly, even against his own self-deprecation.

“Then I am fortunate indeed. Your good opinion is the only one which matters. Let’s go see if Henry has developed a late talent for repudiating his own missteps.”

Palmerston had been established in front of a low fire burning in the pleasant room Melbourne used as his library, office and sitting room. Victoria thought as she walked in how much she enjoyed any space he’d made his own – it seemed to her as though he was quick to leave traces of himself, his tastes, his love of books and voluminous correspondence in any room he occupied, and she felt a coziness and ease in this space she did not in her own more ornate apartment. Comfortable leather chairs flanked a sofa long enough for him to rest on and every available surface was piled with books and papers which overflowed the shelves lining two walls.

The men greeted each other with the casually offhand manner of long acquaintance. If either felt any residual stiffness from their last disharmonious encounter, Victoria did not perceive it. She did, however, feel her own presence was superfluous but when she suggested leaving them both Palmerston and Melbourne protested.

“This is for you, Your Majesty,” he said, handing Victoria a worn volume.

“’Lectures in Political Economy,’” she read, opening the cover to read the inscription in the flyleaf.

“My old professor and mentor,” Palmerston said. “I understand the China policy issue is again rearing its head to vex you and I hoped I might be of service in providing some history and context.”

“You thought wrong, Henry. If Her Majesty requires clarification of any current issue, it is properly the duty of her Government to provide it. And if she wants history or _context_ she has a husband to turn to.”

Palmerston raised his eyebrows in a comically shocked expression at Melbourne’s rebuke. “Damme, man, if I can provide some insight that will help her it was I who dealt with the whole mess in ’38 and I who got the most beneficial treaty anyone could hope for ratified in ’41 –“

As Victoria listened, they began bickering much like the boys they had once been. She moved out of the way, sitting on an arm of the overlong leather sofa and leafing through the book. Dry, almost cryptic in its terminology and stilted tone, she wondered if she would be able to make sense of any part of it. Determined to try – or, more accurately, determined to stay out of their way as they argued – Victoria began reading. Without intending to listen she couldn’t help but hear when their contentious debate began morphing into reminiscences and shared humor and ended in an expression of fraternal affection.

“But damn it, Henry, you can’t come into a man’s house and presume to lecture his wife,” Melbourne expostulated, moving to stand behind Victoria, laying his hands on her shoulders in an unmistakably proprietary gesture.

“Why not? You do it all the time. You and Em as thick as thieves and me the odd man out. And when Fred comes to town it’s even worse, the three of you the Three Musketeers. Never have I seen siblings – half-siblings, I might add – as damnably fond of each other as you lot are. It’s downright unnatural.” Palmerston threw himself down in a chair and stretched his legs out. “And what’s more, this isn’t a house, it’s a – “

“- a veritable palace,” Melbourne finished as they both guffawed. He sat behind his wife at one end of the sofa and pulled her down to sit beside him. In front of family he would be looser and more openly affectionate, but Victoria also guessed he was indulging in some male ritual, declaring himself master in his own home. She decided she liked the feeling, enjoyed knowing he was proud enough of her to wish to show off his pride of possession, and unabashedly leaned against him in full view of his boisterous brother-in-law.

Lord Palmerston invited him into town, to attend a political meeting at the Reform Club. Victoria held her breath, wondering if he would go, if he wanted to go, and then chastised herself for wishing he would not.

“I must stop at the site if I go all the way in,” Melbourne said. “And I want to get my man of business started on some necessary work at my South Street lodging. We should look in on Elizabeth Holland too – I saw her son this morning –“ Victoria got to her feet abruptly, not looking at her husband.

“I will excuse myself. I’ve been sick for days and I’m sure I have much work piled up, if only I can find Edward,” Victoria said, speculating on the whereabouts of her secretary, unseen since she’d fallen ill. “Lord Palmerston, thank you for the book. I will – I will look at it as soon as I have a few moments.” Both men got to their feet belatedly, so quickly did she move in standing and walking to the doorway. A hall page held open the door for her, with the unexplained promptitude typical of palace servants and she stepped into the corridor without looking back.

“Victoria.” Melbourne hurried after her. “Wait, where are you rushing off to?”

“As I said, I expect I have work waiting for me. You brought the dispatches but I’ve seen no mail for a week. Then there is the court calendar and –“

“Victoria,” he repeated quietly, aware of pages in each direction, equerries about, maids scurrying to and fro. He took her arm and steered her into an alcove down one of the least-used side passages.

“Do you not want me to go into town?” Victoria’s features formed a very creditable look of confusion.

“I’m sure I have no opinion on it, Lord M. It must have such a bore, cooped up here for days while I was ill. You should go. Of course you should. You want to see your friends. Go, please.”

Melbourne laughed, that wonderful rich laugh which never failed to charm her. “Oh, my love, you are an absolute wonder but you have no talent for prevarication.” He gripped her upper arms and stooped so his face was level to hers. “Yes, it has been a dead bore, save for some very charming interludes. And yes, I want to go see my friends and hear what’s being said in town. And yes, I even intend to visit my old friend Elizabeth Holland, our physician friend’s mother. And no, none of that reflects on my devotion to you. So show me your surly face. You are adorable when you pout. But spare me that brittle big-girl cheerfulness please. We don’t lie to one another, even by omission.”

Victoria stomped her foot in frustration. “If I say I don’t want you to go I’m needy and demanding and clinging and…all sorts of unpleasant things. If I say I do want you to go, then you make fun of me for trying to be mature and understanding.”

“As long as you are only annoyed that I won’t be attending you for a few hours – and yes, I plan to return tonight, although some other nights I might not – then I am content to see you pout, a very little. But do not, Madame, entertain any other ideas regarding what you think I might be doing, for they will all be false.” He lifted her chin by force, for she was determined to maintain her scowl and refuse to look at him. “Say it. Say you know I am not interested in doing anything I should not.”

Victoria jerked her head away angrily. Melbourne only chuckled softly and kissed her where he could, his lips landing on the soft skin of her bare shoulder, her neck, her ear, until she softened and began laughing too. Looping her arms around his neck, she stretched herself up to meet his mouth with her own.

“I love you. I do _not_ know what you’re interested or not interested in doing, only what I don’t want you to do. You’re mine. All mine.”

He bent his head and caught her mouth, exchanging breath as he deepened his kiss. “Feel that, ma’am? All yours. As _you_ are all mine.” When he finally released her, she slumped against him. He smoothed her hair where wisps escaped her chignon, straightened the lace on her bodice where he had crushed it. “And when I return you can tell me what the doctor said during your examination. I look forward to hearing everything. Whether your lungs are healing as Holland thinks they are. If you’ll be troubled by that cough for many more days.” Melbourne released her and stepped back. “Whether his brother has asked about you and vice versa.”

 

_Syrian Hibiscus: Consumed by Love_


	20. Chapter 20

Dittany of Crete

“There’s far too much here. Babies born, for which we must send congratulatory messages. All the notes from well wishers regarding the opening of the Exchange – William, Mama, you must read the newspaper accounts which have been clipped and saved – people are so kind. This one says that no sovereign was more loved than I am – I blush to say it. And William, the Times and the Chronicle, you must read both accounts – they are so very pretty and so enthusiastic about you –“

The Queen, her mother, her chief lady-in-waiting and her husband sat around the conference table sorting through piles of correspondence, all accumulated over the past weeks and seemingly ignored or worse by the young man acting as her private secretary.

“I think I must have Will back,” Victoria said, her voice expressing something less than enthusiasm at the prospect. She liked Melbourne’s nephew well enough but could not forgive him his steady friendship with the Norton woman. “If he will accept my terms.”

“I think he might. Emily went quite mad when she heard about the approach to Liam. She despised the woman before but involving a small child was quite beyond anything anyone can tolerate,” Emma Portman spoke with her usual no-nonsense tone. Her expression indicated extreme satisfaction at the ever-worsening state of affairs Caroline Norton found herself in.

“Shall I ask Emily to include him tonight?” Melbourne asked. Victoria showed her surprise.

“Her own son? I had not assumed he would not be in attendance. It’s her home…”

“Out of respect for us she did not invite him.”

“Of course, ask her to have him.” The Palmerstons’ home was one of the very few places to which Victoria could venture outside Palace walls, without calling for pomp and ceremony. Even those balls she graced with her presence – the Rutledges’, the Devonshires’ – did not open until the Queen arrived and protocol was as severe as that in the Palace.

Melbourne understood how restrictive and isolating Victoria’s life was, and also how much she detested the role she must play in Court entertainments. The ritual of the ‘Queen’s Round’, requiring her to introduce a topic and elicit conversation from each guest in turn, was an ordeal which did not grow easier with repetition. Protocol demanded that only the Queen could introduce a topic of conversation and must be the first to speak, so most such exchanges were exceedingly stressful and vapid in equal measure for both Queen and courtier. It was artificial, stilted encounters such as these which had caused a reputation for lack of wit and sophistication to grow around Victoria. Melbourne knew better than anyone how untrue and unfair such a description was and had made it his mission to seed each event with as many of his closest friends as he could, bright vivacious men and women who would, for love of him, gently encourage Victoria’s confidence as a hostess and circumvent the rules put in place seemingly only to disadvantage a young girl.

Still, she was most relaxed and able to enjoy herself when surrounded only by intimates and those with whom she was most comfortably familiar, and Melbourne’s sister Emily had stepped in on both counts. A renowned society hostess, bright, ineffably charming and friendly with literally everyone, she’d spread her wings protectively around the young girl Queen at her brother’s urging, first out of her affection for him and pride in his exalted position of influence, later – as his relationship with Victoria had altered into something far more – as a loving sister. Melbourne’s particular friends – the Hollands, now reduced to only Elizabeth Fox, the Uxbridges, Lord Minto and the Aucklands, the Stanhopes – were the brightest lights of society and in their company Victoria was able to gradually come out of her shell and blossom.

Melbourne knew that, whomever Emily had invited, they would be predisposed to be kind and attentive to Victoria without sycophancy, lead her into conversation without patronizing her and offer her at least a brief taste of ordinary society among the very top of the upper 10,000. Emily, while keeping no secrets, did not go out of her way to advertise Victoria’s presence. Her closest friends heard her only refer to her ‘brother and sister-in-law’ and understood.

“Miss Eden will be in attendance. She is in London with her brother,” Melbourne said. Victoria’s eyes widened. “You have enjoyed her letters; you will delight in her conversation. Emily is a very pleasant woman.”

“I will not know what to say. She has been everywhere, has seen everything and writes _such_ descriptions. She will think me a very dull, stupid woman.” Victoria busied herself refolding a note announcing the birth of yet another Paget in that fecund, multigenerational family.

“If she doesn’t think me an intolerable bore – which I suspect she does– she won’t find you dull.” Melbourne laughingly reassured her.

“She declined Emily’s proposal to make a match of you two. Said you wouldn’t suit at all, I believe,” Emma Portman reminded him. Victoria had long known, of course, that Miss Eden was one of the strongest contenders to become the second Lady Melbourne, at least in his sister’s mind. She was comfortable with his explanation that they were good friends, no more.

“A man’s pride does not like to admit that any woman could refuse his name and title so readily. As it turns out, Miss Eden was extremely perspicacious. She said that despite my many affairs, someday a woman would take my whole heart and she was not that woman. So you see, my love, she was determined I should wait for you. I believe you were…” he paused, calculating. “…four at the time she wrote that? Five?”

“I will take these and set your Ladies to writing congratulatory replies,” Lady Portman said, rising and taking the pile of birth and wedding announcements she had separated out.

“If you like, Drina, I can respond to those who wrote in response to your opening of the Royal Exchange.” The Duchess of Kent offered, aligning the edges of those letters in a neat stack. “Should we have some of these newspaper headlines framed? I think we could make a pleasing display of them.”

“Oh, no, Mama. Perhaps…a scrapbook though. For Liam to look at when he’s older, as part of his education.”

“And Lily of course. Your daughter must be educated also, with a proper tutor. I was foolish in giving over control of your education to the Baroness, as devoted as she was.”

“Yes, ma’am, I wholeheartedly agree,” Melbourne responded. “The princess must receive the same education as her brother in every regard.”

When they were alone Melbourne rose and went to sit beside Victoria, sprawling in the straight-backed chair. “You were sleeping soundly when I came in,” he commented. “No coughing during the night?”

“Very little,” Victoria agreed.

“Then no more laudanum? It’s not good to take it for more days than absolutely necessary. It too easily becomes a comfort instead of merely a medicine.”

“It soothes me but under its influence I get nothing done, and I have far too many demands on my time as it is.”

“I did not want to wake you.” By his expression alone Victoria knew herself to have permission to go to him and she did, seating herself on his lap and reaching her arm around his neck.

“You can always wake me if you choose,” she said. “I sleep best with you at my side.”

“As do I, my love. But sometimes it’s good to be apart. You miss me and that can be fun too.” He smirked and Victoria mussed his hair playfully.

“Now,” he shifted suddenly and Victoria would have spilled to the floor if she hadn’t leapt up with the agility of a cat. “Lord Aberdeen is calling shortly. Ask any questions you have, raise any concerns, about China and the opium policy, during your meeting. And if you would like further instruction – on background, understand, not on current policy – Henry and I will jointly tutor you.”

Melbourne rose to his feet, running his fingers through his graying curls. Thick, beautiful hair, Victoria thought, liking it best when it was mussed, the curling ends framing his face. She enjoyed the sight of her husband, so wonderfully handsome, slender in his well-cut knee-length coat and fine tan breeches. Victoria laid her fingertips on his embroidered waistcoat, tracing the patterns, and looked up at him beguilingly from under lowered lashes. Melbourne found himself stirring despite the hour and the setting. “Stop, ma’am, or I will take you here, now. Lay you on your desk – right atop those newspapers there, perhaps – and –“

Victoria’s laughter trilled in the quiet room. “I’m sure walking in on that would take Lord Aberdeen’s mind off the exigencies of foreign policy. And Sir Robert’s off his difficulty reconciling scripture with governance.”

“Make no mistake, ma’am, it would be the reading of those headlines praising me and not your own charms which drove me to such lengths  - flattery is quite an effective aphrodisiac.” Melbourne enjoyed making her laugh, relished their effortless banter, and knew himself to be the most fortunate of men, in having a wife who liked as well as loved him.

**

Sir Robert Peel had seemed especially bumbling and tongue tied and, Victoria thought, genuinely distressed by the moral aspects surrounding the opium issue. She was aware of an uncommon feeling of sympathy for the poor man. Aberdeen was much more of a pragmatist as he reminded the Queen that they only continued a policy of the Melbourne administration, which in turn had inherited it from their predecessors.

A clerk accompanying Peel began distributing papers with long, tightly printed, exhausting-to-read columns of numbers. Victoria recognized financials at a glance and laid the paper aside without further review.

“We are here to answer Your Majesty’s questions regarding our trade policy in the East,” Peel began.

“My _concerns_ , Sir Robert. Lord Aberdeen, may I assume that by showing us these figures you wish to emphasize the revenue of trade in opium?”

“Your revenue, Your Majesty, and not merely in opium. We now have five ports in China where previously we were limited to only one, and one of the first acts of the Peel ministry was to force the signing of a treaty which guaranteed us preferential access to those ports, most favored nation status in trade agreements, and payment of reparations in the amount of £21,000,0000 to pay for the seized opium and the expense of our late war. Canton, Amoy, Foochow, Ningpo and Shanghai are not only open to British trade, but to British residents and consults. We’ve gotten the Co-hong syndicate eliminated and regular duties and tariffs established. Our tea imports are negligible against the revenue we earn from Indian cotton and, yes, the poppy plants. The trade balance is in our favor.”

Victoria glanced over her shoulder at Melbourne, who stood expressionless behind her. She did so as a touchstone; he knew she was confident in this setting, far more than on any social occasion: she’d rapidly absorbed all the tradecraft of governance under his tutelage, and had a remarkable grasp of detail.

“Indian cotton is hardly the crop we are concerned with. Moreover, I understand that the Company itself minimizes the importance of cotton. Sales are unreliable at best, and entirely dependent on the Chinese harvest, whereas _opium_ – for we are discussing an addictive drug and not a benign flower – is by far the largest cash crop anywhere in our domain. Is that correct?”

“Yes, ma’am, of course, but are you fully aware of what that revenue pays for? After the French blockaded us in Argentina and Mexico, we had to send ships in. The ongoing Russian expansionism in Syria and their determined pursuit of a warm water port –“

“I apologize for interrupting you, Lord Aberdeen. I concede that we realize a vast amount of money annually from the sale of opium. I want to know whether there has been any concerted effort to shift our dependence on that revenue to other sources? Is there at least agreement on the _principle_? That a Christian nation should not depend for it’s good on the sale of a noxious substance, one which hijacks the brain, the very soul, of those individuals susceptible to its effects? The Chinese, which are of course not a Christian people – are _heathens_ , in the eyes of our churchmen – recognize this and have protested most strongly, to the point of war, at our continued flouting of their laws in this regard.”

Peel, to his credit, reddened and seemed at a loss for words. Melbourne might have been amused at the man’s inability to reconcile his pontificating religiosity with his practical acceptance of a necessary evil, or at the least an unwinnable battle with the merchant class. He found it ironic that the Whigs, his own party by inclination and practice, were at least nominally the reformers and liberals, yet in this matter laissez-faire capitalism trumped ideology on both sides of the aisle. He had been disinclined to allow his government to become further entangled in the opium controversy, but with the removal of the East India Company’s monopoly, chaos ensued so quickly that he’d been forced to intervene. Using the might of British war power to fight for private commerce offended his sensibilities, but he was helpless in the face of opposition.

Aberdeen seemed to share his thoughts, for he uttered a simple, unarguable conclusion. “Ma’am, you need not think we blame the Melbourne ministry for accepting what it could not change. Palmerston and Lord Melbourne had no choice. Auckland made the matter plain. The Indian government could not and cannot survive without the money derived from the sale of opium. There it is, put bluntly. We can note Your Majesty’s opposition but unless there is some magical way to make up the loss of that revenue, the British Empire will see itself dismantled and we would be relegated to a footnote in the history books if we see the loss of all our colonies for the sake of a puritanical principle.”

Peel stepped forward, remembering his duty as the Queen’s chief minister. “Ma’am, Lord Aberdeen is not overstating the case but I want you to know that I do share your concerns and honor your scruples. Certainly I understand that you do not mean to persuade us to take any course of action which would be detrimental to the country.”

“Can you at least assure me that there is some effort underway to at least _consider_ a way to replace the revenue? From a political perspective alone, the Chinese government feels most strongly about this issue. Their courtiers, military governors, their aristocratic classes, are most affected by the scourge of opium addiction. As long as they are forced to witness firsthand its ravages they are not likely to drop their objections.”

“We will certainly remember Your Majesty’s admonitions. I truly wish there is more we could promise.” Peel bowed stiffly and seeing his troubled expression, Melbourne credited the man with more strong feeling on this issue than he himself had. Melbourne’s only interest was in seeing his wife’s concerns conveyed and properly noted, for while in the immediate future the Queen’s disapprobation had negligible importance, he thought that history would view the matter differently. To him, it was of the utmost importance that future generations knew that Her Majesty Queen Victoria had protested.

“Peel, I believe the concerns I think you share with Her Majesty could be addressed without anyone expecting an immediate solution. If you merely voiced them on her behalf it would reassure the clergy who have preached against our involvement in the opium trade that you are not oblivious to the harm. More papers have been coming out with some horrific descriptions of opium dens lately and they would strongly support any statement you made. A simple statement of concern…” Melbourne’s manner was mild and his delivery gentle enough to be almost self-effacing. Both the Prime Minister and the Queen looked at him gratefully.

The rest of the audience went quickly, and Victoria was soon able to dismiss her ministers with a show of graciousness.

“That went…well?” Her voice lifted on the last word, clearly a question. Melbourne smiled and shook his head. “It went as well as it could. You know of course that eventually you will be proven correct, but given the fortunes which have been made and continue to accrue, it will be a long time coming. Principles do not often succeed against self-interest.”

Victoria rose and shook her head to clear it. “I can not like it but I don’t know what else I can do.”

“You’ve done as much as you can. Shall we?” He extended his hand and when Victoria took it, led her out of the office. They walked down the wide corridor thus, looking to anyone who saw them very much like any couple in love.

The ladies of Victoria’s retinue were seated in her drawing room. Lord Melbourne cautioned Victoria with a finger to his lips and they walked in silence past the open door to his own adjoining suite. A page stationed nearby leapt to open the wide door, standing by expressionless as they passed and then closing it behind them. Just as the door was about to click shut Melbourne quietly asked they not be disturbed. The young man in his smart red livery acknowledged the instruction with a blank face and the briefest of nods. He averted his gaze just in time to avoid having His Lordship and Her Majesty see the glimmer of amused understanding. He would, of course, regale his fellows as soon as he retired to the servants’ quarters. The staff compared notes frequently on how often the royal couple snuck off for romantic interludes such as this. Some of the crasser ones even bandied about lewd appreciation for the Queen’s much-older husband.

“William! You don’t think he suspects we –“ Victoria held a hand over her mouth to stifle her embarrassed laughter.

“I think he certainly suspects I intend to make love to my wife. If you like, I can inform him we intend to discuss foreign trade instead.” He moved towards the door as if to reopen it and she grabbed his arm just in time, still laughing.

“Surely they don’t – don’t _spy_ on us?” Victoria whispered, her eyes wide with shocked concern.

“I think they are human beings with little else to do except watch us. If I had to stand in a hallway all day I’d be peeking through keyholes to alleviate boredom. Wouldn’t you?”

“That young man –“ Victoria blushed, imagining for the first time the innumerable servants who surrounded her, mostly unseen, at the least unnoticed, all of them privy to the most intimate details of her life.

Melbourne took her in his arms and walked her backwards to the long Cordoba leather sofa, tumbling her down.

“I am more interested right now in discussing another young man,” he said, leaning over her. Victoria’s brows lifted.

“Who do you mean? Your nephew?”

“No. Your physician in chief – or at least, the young man who had the privilege of examining you yesterday.”

“Daniel Cameron? He was one of Albert’s household, if you recall. Not a – a lady’s man certainly.”

Melbourne smiled indulgently. “One preference doesn’t necessarily preclude the other. He has entertained his share of female companions. According to the information I’ve received he is no stranger to a certain class of dancer. Of course, he frequently entertains those of his own sex as well.”

“You have received information on him? How? Why?” Victoria struggled to sit up.

Melbourne, smiling easily, stroked her cheek. “Don’t look so surprised, or concerned, my love. He and his brother interest me. And Tom Young needs to keep busy. I told you he has many talents. I find information useful. Perhaps I need to keep busy too.”

“I see. So…what else did you find out?”

“That the old man they keep in their Irish castle recently passed away. The elder brother has returned, to claim the title and salvage what he can of the estate. Now that he has an English title too it’s no longer of much importance what happens over there but to his credit, he intends to see that his mother and sister are provided for. And he thinks to look for a wife. Someone who won’t engage his heart – which he mysteriously proclaims to be already taken – but will provide an heir in return for a title.”

He studied Victoria’s face closely for a moment. “You don’t appear much interested in their activities. Because you knew, or because you have no interest?”

Victoria flushed. “I do not forget what happened before he left. I – I wish him well, of course, and I think if we can assist them financially in any way we should but – I am not eager to face him again.”

Melbourne’s expression changed; perhaps a flicker of relief passed over his face. Still, he kept his features stern and cupped his hand around the back of her neck, drawing her to him.

“A good thing you are no gambler, not even whist like your mother. You have no face for deceit, my love. I believe you.”

It was Victoria’s turn to study his expression. “What do you mean, you believe me? Why would you not?”

He laughed softly. “No reason at all, sweetheart. If I had any reason to disbelieve you…you would know.” His hand cupped around the back of her neck; he drew her towards him and kissed her, pressing his mouth firmly on hers. When she tried to pull back he did not let her, instead pressed her hand hard against his groin so she could feel the demanding firmness there.

When he lifted his head he was pleased by the desire he saw on his wife’s face. She licked her lip, roughened by the pressure of his kiss and the slight roughness on his chin. “Should we go to your bedchamber?” she whispered, and Melbourne was amused by the trace of shyness in her voice. She was still the eager student to his teacher. He leaned back and smiled lazily.

“No,” he said. “Not now…”

“And you?” He asked playfully, reaching his hand under her skirt to stroke her calf, running his hand up and down the smoothness of silk stocking. “What do you want?” Victoria blushed, a deep pink suffusing her cheeks, and looked down.

“You know,” she murmured.

“Tell me. Do you want me?”

“Yes,” she whispered, the sound barely audible.

“Good.” He continued caressing her. “You can think of that while we are at dinner and if you’re a good girl, when we return I’ll…” Her eyes sparked with annoyance and frustration at his meaning and she tried to pull away. His skilled fingers continued their exploration despite his words and she soon relaxed against him. When her breath caught and then came more quickly, in shallow little pants, he traced delicate circles ever closer to the center of her pleasure. When she pushed herself against him he knew she was close and withdrew his hand, smoothing down her skirts with the fussy deliberation of a lady’s maid.

“Now be a good girl and dress for dinner. Wear the black velvet perhaps…with the Indian diamonds?” Melbourne rose from the sofa, pulling her to her feet.

 Victoria groaned softly in frustration and pressed herself against him, wanting his arms around her, wanting him. “Lord M…you torture me…must I spend all evening in anticipation? You are cruel.” She rubbed her cheek against his waistcoat, like an affectionate kitten, he thought tenderly.

“Don’t pout, Mrs. Melbourne. I must ensure you think only of me. Remember, no one knows you as completely as I do.” He held her head in both hands and kissed her deeply, flicking his tongue against hers. “And no one else loves you as completely as I do.”

 

Dittany of Crete: Passion


	21. Chapter 21

Forget-Me-Not

Victoria accepted and returned Emily’s light embrace, the airy gesture of a kiss on each cheek, and smilingly gave her thanks for a lovely evening. She was quite sincere in saying so, for it was a rare and welcome treat to attend a simple dinner party outside palace walls as only William’s wife.

They couldn’t, of course, travel entirely unattended. Strict rules set in place by Melbourne himself, shortly after the first incident when Edward Oxford fired his guns at Her Majesty in 1840, required that the Household Cavalry provide escort, but those military men in attendance had left off their uniform jackets in favor of simple broadcloth, warm coats and mufflers against the damp chill of late autumn.

Lord M climbed in beside his wife and she snuggled against him, clutching a fur muff on her lap. He looked down at the face turned up to him and kissed her lips.

“I can’t believe I was unable to do that for four hours!” he exclaimed in mock complaint. Victoria giggled.

“Emily was quite full of herself, being able to show you off. Not as our queen, of course, but as her favorite brother’s pretty little wife. ‘A veritable infant’, I heard her say. Comparing me to Fred and pretending shock at our raiding the nursery for our brides.” He felt her shiver from the cold  and put his arm around her shoulder. “What did you think of Miss Eden?”

Victoria’s gaze flickered up uncertainly. She heard an almost proprietary air in his voice, one which she was most accustomed to hearing him use when he spoke of her. Still, Victoria conceded that she had detected no romantic or sexual tension between the old friends and she herself had, despite misgivings, quite liked Emily Eden. She said as much.

“She’s so natural and friendly and has such wonderful stories to tell!”

“I was especially pleased she was able to attend. I’ve long wanted to show you off to her. Of course she did not miss her chance to tell everyone she had predicted your capturing my heart whilst you were a mere infant.”

What Emily Eden had told the couples assembled in the Palmerstons’ drawing room was that all through her long and very loving friendship with William Lamb, they had both steadfastly declined the urging of their relations to marry. Neither of their hearts had been engaged and Miss Eden had told William privately that she thought he would someday meet the girl he was destined to love with his whole heart. He had had no shortage of female companionship during that period, yet none held the prospect of a love match so he’d jokingly dismissed her prediction. Seeing him now completely enraptured by his bride, Miss Eden felt vindicated and quite entitled to claim prescience.

They discussed the other guests in a comfortable manner as couples will. Melbourne had kept a watchful eye on Victoria all evening to ensure her comfort and had satisfied himself that she did not appear either ill at ease or overwhelmed. Emily Palmerston privately told him that while Victoria was considered becomingly shy, she had such an undeniable presence that she did not appear gauche. She listened far more than she talked – relieved, Melbourne knew, to be free to enjoy the company, laugh at those things she found amusing, ask perceptive questions, without the burden of being in the spotlight.

Emily Eden, being one of Melbourne’s most frequent and fondest correspondents, had long since begun including his wife in her salutations and he had shared her previous letters with Victoria, written while she was with her brother in India, wonderfully descriptive, lively accounts. Thus Victoria had experienced only the mildest spasms of trepidation and those because she knew she was to meet one of her husband’s dearest female friends.

Emily Eden was predisposed to be kind, for Melbourne’s sake and because she was a naturally easy, gracious person, but he had been pleased to see that she genuinely warmed to Victoria’s hesitant, guileless charm. He’d heard Miss Eden discussing Victoria with his sister and Elizabeth Fox during a brief lull in conversation, the liberty taken by three women who loved him with an affection of long duration. _A very young twenty-five…clearly adores William…those eyes are speaking; there is much intelligence there, and more than a little fire too, I think…no one could have predicted...always drawn to those rare birds who needed him…so relieved to see dear William finally find the happiness which always eluded him…_ Victoria had not heard herself the topic of their whispers, being temporarily engaged by her former and prospective private secretary William Cowper, and Melbourne found little to grumble about in their assessment, although he’d cast his sister a cautioning glance.

As they traveled from Piccadilly to Buckingham House Melbourne recalled their earlier encounter, the playful way in which he’d broken off their lovemaking, and heat coiled in his groin as he imagined her frustration. Casting a glance at his sweet young wife seated primly beside him, he was grateful for the length of black wool coat covering his lap. With that uncanny ability she had to know his thoughts, Victoria’s gaze flickered suddenly downward and her lips quirked into a smile. That was all it took to flood him with eager blood, so he felt himself pushing painfully against the constraints of clothing. _How did she always know_? He wondered, smiling to himself.

Victoria’s small hand, warm from the fur muff, slipped inside the front of his coat and found him, ready and eagerly anticipating her touch. When she stroked him through the fabric of his breeches Melbourne gasped before he could regain mastery of himself. With great deliberation Victoria’s small pink tongue came out and ran across her bottom lip as her fingernails danced over him. Using the material to smooth her passage she began moving her hand in long deliberate strokes and in a very few minutes – too quickly, he thought – he had to beg her to stop, holding her hand in place lest he finish there in the carriage. Even with her hand stilled the heat of her palm kept him balanced on the edge so when she curled her hand around him he moaned from a place deep in his throat. Victoria smiled sweetly with all the innocence she could muster before she withdrew her hand and sat up primly, looking straight ahead.

“You are a naughty little minx,” Melbourne said as she tilted her head, allowing her eyes to slide down to the source of his discomfort.

“Remember, Lord M…no one knows you as I do, and no one will ever love you as I do,” she whispered his words back to him.

The steps were put down and Melbourne got out of the carriage, extending his hand to Victoria. They walked up the stairs and past sentries who flung open doors, saluting them. Together they moved in stately fashion up the Grand Stairway and traveled down the corridor toward the family apartments, past unsmiling portraits of Victoria’s most illustrious ancestors. A page threw open the double doors to the Queen’s apartment and husband and wife stepped through.

“I will send for my maid and –“ Victoria felt a pair of strong hands turn her around. Melbourne gripped her shoulders and clasped her mouth with his, kissing her so deeply and with such urgency she lost her breath.

“I will act as your maid, ma’am,” he growled, tearing a ribbon as he removed her cloak, shrugging out of his own caped overcoat. Victoria gasped, laughing but she saw his expression was stern, single-minded in its intensity.

“Enough play. Now..” he murmured, lips at the pulse point in her neck, kissing, sucking. “…now…” the words were muffled but she nonetheless took their meaning and felt a thrill go through her. When he fought unsuccessfully to find his way through her layered petticoats he cursed in frustration.

“Shall I call my maid after all, Lord M?” Victoria teased in a bright voice. Melbourne’s hands cupped her buttocks, holding them firmly in place as he rocked himself against her.

“Damnation…bed…” He pulled her across the darkened sitting room and into her bedroom.

“My dress! Be careful of my dress,” Victoria squealed, breathless. “Unbutton me please.” Lush dark velvet, richly embroidered, slid loosely past her shoulders as soon as he freed her.

Victoria’s soft fingers reached behind and found him, quickly, brought him back just to the precipice, as he loosened the laces on her stays with trembling hands. Melbourne leaned over her shoulder, kissing along the curve of her neck, following the line of her shoulder.

“Beautiful!” Melbourne whispered. “Victoria!”

He unpinned her hair and let it fall free, spreading it over her shoulders. When he lifted her breasts, cupping them, flicking his thumb over the nipples, she quivered with anticipation and need.

**

“I love this most of all,” Victoria purred afterward as he lay on her spent, utterly relaxed, still filling her. Her hands stroked the length of his back, liking the feel of taut muscles under smooth skin, the width of his shoulders, the slope of his hips. She especially savored the weight of him, finding it inexpressibly soothing. _He completes me_ , she thought, _in some impossible, physical way he gives me what I’ve always been missing to feel whole_. “I wish we could stay like this always.”

Melbourne laughed and raised himself, supporting his weight on his forearms. “Have I mentioned that I absolutely adore you, Mrs. Melbourne? And that you make me sublimely happy? The miracle of you.”

Victoria’s teasing, trilling laugh turned into a groan of disappointment when he slipped from her and rolled over to lay beside her. Melbourne pulled up the bedcovers and covered her tenderly. He glanced at the brown glass bottle of laudanum still on her night table. “Your cough is almost entirely gone. I think we can get rid of this?”

Victoria shrugged indifferently, but she saw something in his expression that roused her curiosity.

“Do you think it’s harmful? Do you not want me to use it? It is harmless and soothes my nerves, even when I am not coughing.”

“You are aware that this is essentially the same thing as the opium which concerns you?” Melbourne asked.

“No! Laudanum? I don’t believe it!”

“Yes, ma’am, you may believe it. While many begin using it as you did, for a cough or for pains after an injury, even rheumatism, others find its use a balm to the troubled spirit and that I think is where trouble starts. We British and the Europeans are shocked and scandalized by tales from opium dens in the East but look past what’s right under our noses. This stuff is available anywhere for a few pence and comes in a bottle like medicine so you are fooled into thinking it harmless.”

“Why would anyone take it if they did not need it? It tastes _horrible_!” Melbourne bunched up the pillow behind his head and leaned back, his eyes closed. Victoria traced the path of the hairs shadowing his fine chest, dropping random kisses as she went, sensing he was thinking of something which troubled him far beyond a troublesome trade policy.

“Opium is destructive and I don’t believe its overuse is a moral failing, a vice. I believe some people are predisposed to be susceptible in the same way some people can drink, even to excess, without ever becoming addicted to alcohol, while others take a first sip and are lost to all sense of moderation. My wife –“ Victoria’s hand stilled. Without understanding why, those words always chilled her while the more intimate use of Caroline’s name drew her closer to William, as though the three of them shared a bond. “-Caro,” he continued. “Was entranced by the stuff from her first taste. Byron, Shelley and their crowd smoked opium – it was a fad with them, an affectation, to share a water pipe during their evening literary discussions. The rest I don’t know but for Caro – from the beginning it was a part of the poet’s irresistible appeal, I think. His appeal in baser ways I do not doubt, but some part of it was bound up with the relief she found in the opium he introduced her to. I tried the stuff, as I tried many things I had no real taste for, in a misguided and futile effort to make myself over into the kind of man I thought she wanted. Reckless, without regard for consequences, seeing excitement at every turn and determined to push past all boundaries of polite society.” He chuckled remembering, but to Victoria the sound was without humor or warmth. “As it turned out, even Byron wasn’t _Byron_ enough for poor Caro. Only her opium – her _laudanum_ – gave her what she needed, what no man could provide.”

“What was that?” Victoria asked quietly, her voice subdued. She was unwilling to risk saying the wrong thing; it was so seldom that he fully opened up to her, at least in sharing the emotional pain of his past.

“I asked her that once, asked her to describe what she felt when she drank the stuff from morning to night. In the beginning, she said, it felt like  the aftermath of the best lovemaking one could imagine, a languid ease like honey in the veins, giving her complete peace and contentment. Later of course, it was none of that, and the more she took in an attempt to recreate those early sensations, the more she needed only to ward off the sickness and pains which overtook her when it left her system.” Melbourne shook his head as if to rid himself of the visions in his head.

“Caro had many problems, and I don’t mean to suggest that you would be susceptible, only that…I worry about anything with the potential to harm you and would just as soon see this stuff consigned to the fire. So many people, right here in England, start by buy the stuff at the apothecary and end up selling their bodies, their souls to chase after that very first sensation.”

“It must have been very hard for you to watch Caro’s decline,” Victoria said hesitantly. Melbourne raised his head to look at her and smiled, his expression tender, appreciating that she wanted to understand and did not know how to give comfort.

“It was not easy,” he said. “We were friends at the end. I never stopped loving her although it was no longer a romantic attachment. But finally, she needed me – always before, she seemed to reject, even mock my desire to protect and care for her. She was ill, physically and emotionally, although we had many good days too, days when I returned from Dublin for a long stay and we would stroll about Brocket’s grounds, accompanied by the packs of dogs and children she always kept around her, talking about our lives. Or rather, mine, for by that point she had no more life outside of her bed and our home.”

“Is that when Susan came to her?” Victoria asked. She’d always been curious about the particulars of his mysterious ward, even though they now wrote the young woman jointly, Melbourne joining her name to his as he did with Lady Brandon, with Miss Eden and his other feminine acquaintances.

“Yes, about then. Lady Bessborough died and Susan came to Caro. She kept her as a pet, dressed her in miniatures of all her own costumes, taught her to ride like a boy, to be as wild a little hoyden as Caro had been in her youth. Augustus seemed to enjoy having a little sister about, although we had to watch him closely with her –“ Melbourne kissed the very tip of Victoria’s nose and stroked her cheek. “Am I boring you with my reminiscences?” he asked.

“No, not at all. I – I want to know about things in your life which were important to you. Those things which shaped you and made you who you are. I am sorry for her. Even though if she had not – we would not have -” Melbourne saw the adoration shining from her eyes, bottomless wells of unconditional love that to him felt like the very stuff of life. _Had anything before this ever been truly important?_ He wondered, knowing that they had, at the time but still unable to quite credit it; knowing too that Victoria gave him that which he’d longed for in vain all his adult life, someone to love and be loved by to the exclusion of everything else.

“We would have always found each other. Caro did not have to die to permit that to happen. I would have met you and loved you and made you love me no matter what. It’s what I was born to do.” Melbourne’s eyes grew moist and Victoria leaned over to kiss him, touching his face solemnly.

“If I might now change the subject to the present…just judging by what I heard from Elizabeth Fox, and from Emily herself among others – this might be as good a time as any to confront our nemesis. She never had many friends, only admirers, and now she finds herself nearly entirely ostracized even from those who stood by her previously. You know she confronted Miss Eden in a drunken, jealous rage?”

“Over you?” Victoria asked him, sitting up, unabashedly dropping the sheet to bare her breasts. Melbourne smiled and stroked one appreciatively.

“Yes, over me. I do not say that boastfully. I found such displays excruciatingly painful whether I was the target or merely collateral damage, as I was with Caro. It gave me a distaste for violently exhibitionist behavior.” He sighed, remembering. “At any rate, Emily – Miss Eden – has many friends in society. As you saw, she is a kind, delightfully gracious woman who is welcomed everywhere, the best _ton_. So having her living in the country again is no small advantage – she can rally her friends without lifting a finger.”

“Do you not think that the more isolated that woman is, the less rational and predictable her behavior might become? If she has nothing left to lose – her place in society, her children, any friends she may have had – and you –“

“She never _had_ me, and even the insignificant dalliance we had was ruined when she thought to force my hand by flaunting our affair under George’s nose.” Melbourne rose and Victoria was distracted, staring at him openly until she caught him.

“You stare, ma’am?”

“You are beautiful, Lord M. Quite ravishing. I like to look at it.” Victoria grinned. He drew his dressing gown about him and tied the sash. He walked around the bed and picked up her gown, laying it over the back of the chair.

“And I like looking at you. Especially when you are naked except for a million or so in diamonds. However…I don’t think the Crown Jewelers would approve of you sleeping in those. Here, my love,” Melbourne held open her dressing gown. “Slip this on and let’s call your maid to have those put away. I am going to send to the kitchen for some bread and cheese. Did you ever notice how rarely one gets enough to eat at a dinner party? It’s quite bad form to actually eat, just as it is at State dinners. Would you like anything special sent up?”

Victoria answered immediately, “Raspberries, please,” and slipped her arms into the robe he held.

Melbourne left to send the necessary orders and when he returned Victoria sat in the chair at her dressing table while he lounged easily on the chaise.

“So…how do we proceed in dealing with her?” Victoria asked.

“First…I don’t think there is any final solution save having her poisoned,” Melbourne said humorously. Victoria sat up with a start and then slowly relaxed.

“That wouldn’t work,” she said regretfully. “Even long ago, before there was a gutter press and people selling information for shillings, such things always came out. Think of the scandal. Not that I would...oh, do be serious!”

She also thought, turning the idea over in her mind, that even if it were possible, while one could more easily dispatch one troublesome ex-mistress than send thousands of boys and nen to die in the Khyber Pass, it would simply not do. The very reason she hated the woman was the reason she would stay her hand: the beastly woman was a small piece of William’s past and Victoria knew she could never do anything that would cause him even passing regret. He’d had so much already.

He watched her struggling with her thoughts and laughed softly, with genuine amusement.

“My ruthless little empress,” he teased. “Admit it, you considered it…just momentarily…”

Victoria gave him an impatient, unamused look. “We must be practical,” she said. “What do you recommend?”

He sighed. “Ignoring her hasn’t worked. Conceding to at least some of her demands doesn’t work. We can hope she meets someone else to take my place in her thoughts and her - never mind. What if we bring her here? Tell her – let her _see_ and hear with her own eyes that nothing she can say or do will matter against the fact that you are my one true love and she is nothing to me, having forfeited even friendship.”

“Bring her here?” Victoria squawked. “To Court?”

“Not to _Court_. Not formally. Simply here. Invite her here – _we_ invite her here. Meet with her, and talk to her. Together. You and I.”

“Why would she come under those circumstances? If she knew that we intended to confront her together?” Victoria’s brows furrowed as she considered the matter.

“I didn’t say we’d confront her, precisely. She would come because she would consider it her due, and because she will convince herself that it’s one more chance to torment you. She would come because if there’s one thing Mrs. Norton lives for above all else, it’s an audience, a stage to perform on.” Melbourne went on, thinking out loud, as the vaguest plan began to take shape. “Not her alone, of course. A small group, an informal gathering. Perhaps similar to those Albert would host. Provide her an audience. We could invite Miss Eden. Perhaps Mrs. Lovelace. Our friend Disraeli – he has been persona non grata here for years and would jump at a chance to return in any context. Your physician friend Mr. Cameron. He knew the crowd that Albert most often hosted.” That, Melbourne thought, was the crux of the plan – hope, more accurately – forming.

“Daniel Cameron?” Victoria laughed. “He’s the least sociable man I know. I never understood what Albert saw in him, except – “ she blushed. “- well, that. But I don’t think he would have any interest in coming to an evening here.”

“He might surprise you. I think if there’s any living human being that young man has a fondness for, it’s his brother. And for the brother, he will maintain a connection to you.” Melbourne saw Victoria frown, and continued easily, wanting neither to offend her nor articulate his plan. “Besides, according to Tom Young at least, Cameron might find an evening of music and conversation a beguiling antidote to his usual recreation with opera dancers and prostitutes. It must become costly paying off their pimps for the damage he leaves in his wake.”

“What an odd party this will be,” Victoria said, looking up as two servers rolled in a tray bearing refreshments from the kitchen, along with a small vase bearing delicate blue flowers. She picked up the well-worn little dictionary of flowers she kept on her dressing table and flipped through the pages until she found a picture which matched the blue blossoms. _Forget-Me-Not_. "I like these very much," she said quietly. "In fact, I think they are perfect."

_Forget-Me-Not: True and undying love; a connection that lasts through time; Fidelity and loyalty in a relationship, despite separation or other challenges._


	22. Chapter 22

Rose, Deep Pink

Viscount Melbourne rode inside a carriage transporting him home – _home_ , the way the word formed itself in his mind didn’t escape him. He had been in the City, having attended a memorial service for his former father-in-law, the third Earl of Bessborough. He'd dined afterward by invitation with the fourth Earl and those of Caro’s relations who had assembled, lingering late into the night with these oldest of friends. Rather than journey back to the palace in the dead of a winter night –all the way to Windsor, for the household had moved in preparation for Christmas – or endure privation at his neglected town house, Melbourne had spent the night in a room at his club. He had enjoyed a leisurely few hours in the reading room and several more inspecting progress on the interiors of the new House of Lords. A second supper in town, this one at a political dinner, had passed tolerably well but now he was looking forward to his wife’s company once more.

He remembered other times riding just this way, looking out the window to see the windows of the palace all aglow, hoping for a glimpse of _her_. Remembered a time when they did not yet know what the future would bring and he’d treasured just such glimpses – seeing Her Majesty ready for the opera through one window; seeing rooms from afar so familiar to him he would walk their floors in his mind. He chilled at the memory of their separation then and the indescribable pain he’d felt in thinking he would not survive another loss. But thanks to _her_ , his headstrong, indomitable little girl-Queen, it had not been the end, only a new and quite wonderful beginning.

Melbourne still regretted the death of the Prince Consort more than a year before, feeling that young man’s loss more acutely than anyone save his own brother. In the life they’d carved out, the three of them, Albert’s presence, young, vital, with a long future ahead as consort to the Queen of England, was the one thing Melbourne could pin his hopes on, in daring to love and make children with a girl four decades his junior. That he would someday predecease Victoria was an unpalatable truth he couldn’t avoid. The knowledge had given him the strength to turn her away once. But so long as she had a husband at her side, fond, undemanding, disinterested in a normal marital relationship and satisfied with all the freedom and advantage of his marriage to the Queen, Melbourne was able to assuage his own conscience. Since Albert’s untimely death he was haunted by the prospect of leaving Victoria and the children alone and unprotected. Too often in the bloody history of their country a young widow with a crown had been preyed upon by unscrupulous suitors seeking to wield power and shape the next sovereign. Wars were fought, the blood of thousands spilled. One need not look back to Bosworth; one need only look at their neighbors across the Channel. 

Melbourne understood without false modesty that he was Victoria’s great love, and as little as he encouraged her overdependence he knew that she would be bereft, hollowed, gutted, when he died. She jealousy guarded her power and prerogative and filled her role admirably , while still needing to know he was physically near, craving his reassuring glances, his gaze on her. All he could do was strengthen her as best he could. That, and arrange circumstances to ensure she had the love as well as loyalty of those who would serve her, including at least one who did so for love alone, untainted by pride of position or family ambition.

When he felt the team slow, their bridles jingling, Melbourne slid to the far side of the seat to catch his first glimpse of the palace. Windsor lacked the modernity of Buckingham House as well as its windows, but even this solid old fortress spilled warm, welcoming golden light. Windsor had a grim gloomy exterior at all seasons, meant to be forbidding, but to Melbourne, when it sheltered the Court, his wife and their babies, the friendly faces of servants and attendants, it was _home_.

Melbourne ran lightly up the stairs and nodded acknowledgment to the sentries opening doors at the approach of the Queen’s husband. He surmised his wife would be in the larger of her drawing rooms, where she entertained visitors.

Melbourne turned in the direction of the nursery. It was late – past ten –and he knew he’d receive the sharp side of Lehzen’s tongue for disturbing her charges but he wanted to kiss his children and steal a few precious minutes watching them sleep.

Nearly a year had passed since their marriage, more than twelve months since the sudden death by misadventure of the Prince Consort, and more often than he liked Melbourne found himself fielding the question of when and, increasingly, whether Her Majesty might provide a third royal child. It had long amused him, how everyone from chimney sweep to Chancellor thought the Queen’s reproductive status their business. He understood it, but where formerly it had only amused him, the subject was beginning to irk. He doubted whether any other man had to endure the sort of intimate speculation which Her Majesty’s subjects directed to him. _Would they soon give the country a new prince or princess? Surely he longed for a child of his own?_ – this last the inevitable result of their need to maintain the polite fiction that Albert had fathered the first two. And, most grating, the obliquely couched speculation whether his age and the decades which separated him from his twenty-five year old wife prevented him giving her a child.

Had he been free to answer bluntly, he would have assured them that Her Majesty was well provided for. The other issues were of course more difficult to address, but the truth was, while like any man he would love to see Victoria filled with his child, he had the unlooked-for blessing of a happy, healthy son and daughter despite all odds and could ask for no more. He knew, she knew, and those who were closest to them knew the truth. Whether his descendants would know, if he would have a place in history as the father of a King or merely an asterisk, those were matters upon which he dared not speculate.

The hall page and sentry who guarded the children’s suite stood across from each other and judging from their silent, flushed immobility and the red-faced nursery maid who dropped into a curtsy, Melbourne assumed he’d interrupted some dalliance in progress. He resisted the urge to wink at the young men – as long as the children within were protected and attended he had no complaints – and quietly opened the door.

He stepped into a single large chamber, divided into spaces for lessons and play. In daylight Melbourne knew this space to be bright and cheery with little of the gilt which predominated in the rest of the Palace. Victoria had insisted on bright, warm colors and amusing murals were painted on two walls, monkeys dangling from trees, pachyderms walking through high grass, camels and friendly tigers. Beyond this first room was a second, smaller space they had had carved out of the original grand chamber.

Baroness Lehzen was nowhere in sight and Melbourne was aware of some relief. He valued the stern German spinster for her unquestioning, selfless loyalty and undeniable love for Victoria but he never failed to feel like an interloper in _her_ nursery. He stood over his son, watching the boy sleep with one hand tucked under his cheek and a book open face-down on his chest. Melbourne carefully took the book and put it on the night table, then bent to kiss him.

The Prince of Wales had been invested at only a month – signing the parchment, symbolically awarding him a miniature sword and shield had been one of Victoria’s first acts after her confinement – and had been coddled, guarded and catered to his entire life. Melbourne had never known a more sweet-natured child, unfailingly kind and considerate to those who served him and warmly affectionate to his family. Melbourne knew he perceived and retained far more than a boy his age normally did, and those wide sea-green eyes missed nothing. Having had a son who was mentally flawed, unable to give or receive love and intolerant of any show of affection, Melbourne took nothing about the miracle of this boy’s existence for granted.

Prince William had lived his entire life surrounded by the love of an extended family in all its uniqueness. His titular father, Prince Albert, had treated him with the bemused affection of a young man unused to children, a benignly detached uncle. Their shared enthusiasm for model trains and every kind of mechanical gadget had given them reason to spend hours together assembling miniature tracks and tiny villages sent from all corners of the globe and every manufactory in the kingdom. The young men Albert kept around him laughed and played like children themselves and one or the other was always underfoot, picking up the little boy and swinging him about. The fellow he called ‘his soldier’ had likewise emerged from the Prince Consort’s household and had a special fondness for the little prince, carrying him high on his broad shoulders, finding him that absurd pony, an abused pack animal and patiently walking him in circles for hours on end. Lezhen and his grandmother smothered him with affection, continuing the rivalry which had begun with Victoria, and of course his mother doted on him. But Liam above all worshipped his father.

Melbourne, like many men who come to fatherhood late in life, was content to spend hours with his child, letting the boy dictate their activities, and the two of them were a familiar sight, walking and talking, the former Prime Minister giving every utterance as much careful consideration as he ever had the most urgent bill being argued in the House. More, in fact, Melbourne thought, smiling to himself.

Aware that he was dallying long after the Queen would hope to see him, he bent and kissed the boy’s soft forehead.

Princess Elizabeth – Lily – slept in her cradle, lying on her back with her little hands looking so much like starfish raised on either side of her head. Melbourne was forcefully struck by his baby daughter’s absolutely trusting, defenseless posture in sleep. It was comfortably warm in the nursery but for something to do in her care, he pulled up the soft blanket bunched at her feet. Lily had been crawling for months and had been recently edging along whatever surface she could cling to for support; clearly her first steps were imminent and Melbourne fervently hoped he and Victoria would be on hand when she took them.

He looked about and saw no attendants. The girl in the corridor must be the only one then, he thought. Victoria permitted Lehzen to control the nursery in most ways, but she had ordered that the children never be left unattended, even in sleep, and the nursery was more than adequately staffed to ensure that happened.

Unobserved, Melbourne kissed his fingertip and laid it carefully on the baby’s downy cheek, laughing softly at his own foolishness. _A daughter!_ His mind formed the thought, laden with awe. _I never thought I’d have a daughter_.

He sensed her presence behind him, although she made no sound and turned to face his wife.

Victoria’s small form was pliable in his arms, and holding her felt more _right_ than anything he’d ever done. Without speaking, the Queen raised her hand and caught the teardrop sliding down her husband’s cheek. Together they turned to leave the nursery.

Melbourne allowed his valet to remove the many-caped greatcoat he wore, and peel off his well-tailored coat. The elderly man methodically performed his duties in silence, neither cowed nor distracted by his employer’s wife.

“Shall we go to your chamber, ma’am? If I sit here I fear I will fall asleep in my chair, and thus offend Your Majesty.” Victoria laughed and placed her hand in his, walking through his dressing room to hers and thence to her private apartments. As soon as they entered her boudoir they were greeted by the sweet, sultry scents of summer, dozens of deep pink roses in vases placed about the room. She twirled around in delight, inhaling deeply. "It smells like June in here! Wherever did you find so many roses in December?"

"For you, ma'am, anything is possible and this morning I woke up certain this needed to be rose-colored day." Victoria leaned over each bouquet, breathing in their perfumed scent. 

"So what do you hear in town? Are we to have a government a while longer? I hope..."

“Duncannon – the fourth Earl, now – reckons Peel can hold on until sometime next year. No longer. Talk at the dinner I attended was that it’s now common knowledge among those in the know, that Peel intends to betray those who support him. _That_ tidbit is from our nemesis, who lives to gossip and uses inside information as her stock in trade. Sidney Herbert’s her lover these five years and she gets it from him.”

“So who do I call to form a government if Peel resigns?” Victoria looked up at Melbourne and he understood she was asking for information, not advice. “Palmerston?”

“Not yet. His inclination is to be rash and headstrong. The ministry will come to him in time, I think – you’ll know when that becomes inevitable – but for now Russell’s the only man who can deal with O’Connell _and_ those who oppose him.”

“John Russell?” Victoria wrinkled her small nose. “I quite like Lady Russell but he is so…abrasive? Energetic?” Melbourne laughed easily.

“He does take all the oxygen in a room. He is a stirring orator in the Chamber but forgets to hang it up in the drawing room.”

“I had heard previously of that woman’s connection to Sidney Herbert. If she hopes to marry him when her divorce comes through why does she still plague us?”

“My darling…you assume a linear progression in her affection, whereas Caroline Norton has always been extremely proficient at layering, one lover atop another. I speak metaphorically, of course,” he paused as though considering. “Though perhaps not with certainty. Edward Trelawney was one of her side pieces during the time I knew her. He puts me in mind of your Daniel Cameron. Both of them actually, but the other – Billy – is far too good-natured to be lumped with the other two. Trelawney was a wild-looking fellow, resembled a pirate, and had as little patience with social niceties as Daniel. He ran with the Byron-Shelley crowd for a time and men and wonen alike were enamoured of him. There was a wild story going about that when he exhumed and cremated the bodies of Shelley and his companion, he leapt into the flames and removed Percy’s heart to present to his wife.”

Victoria looked on incredulously, unsure whether he was jesting, albeit in poor taste. Melbourne laughed. “I do not tease you. It’s all documented somewhere – you forget, Byron and Mary Shelley were present. They couldn’t _not_ write the account. Actually, Mary Shelley was quite smitten with Mrs. Norton herself. Yes, romantically, although she was enough older I’m not sure anything came of it. I would be no more than a footnote in the story of her life if I hadn’t ended it. She only become decided she must be the love of my life because I detached myself. When she could no longer have me, because I gave my heart to you. At any rate, this _corsair_ Trelawney has much in common, at least superficially, with Daniel Cameron. And that is why I suggested inviting them both. If I am correct and they sense certain compatibilities, he might well be able to exert some influence. As much as her interference upsets you,” Melbourne lifted her hand and ran his thumb over her thumb, looking pensive. “It upsets me more, because I know well the extremes to which an obsessive female can go. It almost makes me pity poor Byron. And I will not have you pursued or tormented.”

When Victoria rose from her seat and walked to him he he drew her onto his lap.

“So you think she will attend our _salon_?” Victoria betrayed her hesitancy, even fear, and he stroked her face.

“I know she will. You need not look so concerned. Surely you don’t imagine she could affect me by being here? She has written me a note, delivered to my club as his her habit, as though she imagines I will keep it private from you.”

“What does she say?”

Melbourne handed her the envelope, meanwhile tightening his grip on her waist, seeking to steady and reassure her.

To Victoria’s relief it contained nothing much save a breezy assurance she would attend, in the company of her dear friend Willie Cowper – a slap in itself, to the Queen as much as his own mother – and although she could not like the casual intimacy with which her husband was addressed, she found nothing specific of which she could complain.

“Poor Willie had a letter from her too,” Melbourne said. “Which he thought it worthwhile to bring to my attention. He is caught up in her wiles but does not wish an open breach with his family as a result. As far as that goes, I doubt she wants that either since she values him as a conduit to me. She threatens to do yet worse, to cause more trouble for Fred and Emily as well as you. ‘If your family choose to make the occasion of Lord Melbourne’s marriage a declaration of war with me, let them – they will find they have shown more courage than perhaps they themselves are aware. If I have lost my only love, I have also lost in him the strong check that kept me back in hours of exasperation.’ He is commanded to escort her here, which of course precludes him returning as your Private Secretary, or holding any place in a Whig ministry after Peel resigns. Emily wouldn’t have it and Henry would respect her wishes – and mine. So you see, anything we can do to provide her with distraction can only be a good thing.”

“Dangle a shiny new toy in front of her?” Victoria asked tartly.

“Something like that, my love,” Melbourne responded, tipping her back so she had to fall against his chest and rising with her in his arms, making her giggle.

“And now, ma’am, I wish to retire with my wife.

**

Melbourne lay awake long into the night, despite his earlier certainty that he would sleep well. Beside him Victoria lay curled on her side, one small hand clutching his arm.

He’d dozed off after their lovemaking, relaxed and content, but awakened with a start some time later. From the pounding beat of his heart and the tremor in his limbs Melbourne assumed that he had another disturbing dream, although he could recall nothing save the briefest terrifying sense of disorientation. He’d recognized the Queen’s – _Victoria’s_ bedchamber – but could not reconcile his own presence in bed beside her. In far less time than it took to recreate in memory, the sensation faded and he knew her for his wife once more. Still, he had no wish to fall back asleep just yet but neither was he much inclined to leave the warmth and comfort of her presence. Not counting the ineffable pleasure of their passion, she was simply too delightful a bed partner, warm, soft, fragrant and sweet, and the stone floor too cold beneath its rugs, to contemplate rising and leaving her.

Instead Melbourne arranged his thoughts along practical lines. They would celebrate both their son’s fifth birthday and the first anniversary of their marriage in a few weeks’ time, the country was stable as it ever was and Victoria was a much-loved monarch. Those were positives. The idea of a former mistress doing her best to torment Victoria – and with a literary platform from which to do so – was a negative. He hoped to rectify that as best he could, with his nascent plan to provide her a distraction. The distraction – _ah, yes_ , he thought – _the Camerons_. _I sensed they had some role to play from the moment Albert introduced them. Funny how those things go, as if all life as a book already written or, perhaps, a play already seen, with only the costumes and sets changed._

Melbourne harbored no animosity toward either. He knew Victoria’s mind and heart better than she herself did. What resentment he had for the brother was due only to his youth and vigor and the endless years he had stretching out before him – time Melbourne had long since spent. But the sort of loyalty Cameron offered, which demanded nothing in return - there was a reason the old troubadours sang of pure, courtly love. Melbourne recalled with a smirk the look of near-horror on Cameron’s face when his ladylove, unattainable object of unrequited desire, had trapped him in his room, threatening to upset all those gauzy fantasies with the messy reality of her presence. No, he was no threat but rather a card to play, held in reserve. Her chivalrous knight, selfless in his determination to serve, her Lancelot. Melbourne winced as he recalled the ending of that particular fable – perhaps _Don Quixote_ was better.

Leopold, King of the Belgians…Melbourne had known that he would have to make the peace there, and peace he would make – but from a position of strength. He himself could easily shrug off the man’s petty attempts to assert authority and privilege of rank over the Queen’s husband, but he could not readily forgive the man’s perhaps-misguided attempts to destroy Victoria’s happiness or to position yet another nephew in the wings as her third husband. There would be no State marriage for Victoria when Melbourne was gone – he was not selfish enough to deny her all hope of happiness, but he recognized that second only to him, her crown was her passion. Victoria had thrown herself into her role from the first morning they bowed before her and she was growing daily in wisdom and experience. Any State marriage to another prince would devolve quickly into an undignified struggle for power and she would not lightly relinquish her rights or her duties. If she did, she would have nothing to sustain her. Melbourne resolved to make sure Leopold understood both those facts before encouraging Victoria to restore cordial family relations.

He rolled over and propped himself on one elbow, the better to watch her as she slept. The wonder of her never ceased to amaze him, to grip his heart painfully. No matter how he recreated every element in his mind, and despite the nagging sense that he had indulged himself and done her no favors in taking her for himself…Melbourne could never quite shake an overriding sense of inevitability. They were made to find and love one another and had they been cheated of the opportunity, the world itself would be different for it. Worse perhaps, but definitely different than the way it was meant to be.

How it would end, how they would end, Melbourne could never foresee. He knew he could not weaken and decay in front of her and their children. Whether another attack of cerebral apoplexy did it, or the curse of epilepsy which had so wracked Augustus all the years of his life; whether the combined deficits of advancing age, palsy, gout, simple weakness, even – God forbid – impotence, Melbourne would not permit her to watch him fade away. She would be left with the memory of him at his ablest. He would not allow it to be otherwise.

Melbourne shrugged off those thoughts which inevitably come during the darkest hour of the night, he lowered his head to the pillow and curved his body around hers, allowing her warmth and youth to seep into his bones, sustaining him until morning. He would not allow sleep to take him; instead he would watch over her and guard her, his precious girl.

Rose, Deep Pink:  _Appreciation, Gratitude, ''Thank You for being in my life''_

 


	23. Chapter 23

* * *

Orchid

Victoria perched on the arm of a chair in Lord Melbourne’s dressing room. Her own toilette complete – he’d complimented her blue silk with its plunging neckline that made her neck look especially long and graceful, rising from creamy bared shoulders – she watched her husband finish his own. A valet stood by while Melbourne shaved himself, and Victoria held her breath as he swept the long razor carefully up his neck, around the line of his jaw, over the precious contours of a face she knew so well.

He stood before the mirror clad only in black satin knee breeches, torso bared and still slightly damp from his bath. Victoria ran her eyes over his taut stomach muscles, with the oh-so-intriguing line of dark hair from navel to… _there_. She wanted, ached, to touch him but was prevented by the presence of his manservant. Victoria remembered for how long she had imagined having just this privilege, of seeing her marvelously handsome Prime Minister unclothed in an intimate setting. Of course, there had been many more wonders in store, had she but known it then. Now, however…

Melbourne’s eyes met hers, his own both amused and understanding, while he pressed a steaming white towel against his face. _How I adore this man!_ Victoria thought as she did a thousand times. _And how fortunate I am to have him!_ A lump formed in her throat when she looked admiringly at his long legs, at his chest with its thatch of black hair she wanted – _absolutely needed! –_ to stroke, those shoulders which looked so thrillingly strong when he was atop her in their bed…she shuddered, and as if he _knew_ Melbourne’s mouth tightened in a secret smile.

“That will be all for now, Baines,” he murmured absently to the valet. “Please ready my evening jacket.“

“The Windsor jacket, Lord M. We _are_ at Windsor Castle,” Victoria reminded him helpfully.

“The Windsor jacket, then,” he agreed with a longsuffering sigh. The valet bowed his way out of the dressing room and Melbourne slipped a billowing white shirt over his head. Before he could tend to the task himself Victoria stepped forward and worked on his cuffs, liking the way soft white fabric contrasted with his elegant wrists and hands.

“You must stop looking at me like that or dinner will be scandalously late.” His words were meant to be stern, but Victoria heard and warmed to the caressing note in his voice, that unique raspy voice which she’d heard in her mind day and night for so long she couldn’t remember a time before.

While she bent over the cuffs Victoria felt him delicately move the long curls which spilled over her neck in artful disarray, felt his lips pressed against the sensitive skin behind her ear. She shuddered with sudden painful desire and struggled to drag in a breath of air. Laughing softly, Melbourne traced the sharp edge of her clavicle with his fingertips, a feather light touch that she felt all the way to her toes.

“I wanted this for so long. Since before I was quite sure what I wanted, I knew I wanted you,” she said softly, her voice trembling with emotion.

“And I, you, although I knew exactly what it was I wanted, and knew how wrong it would be.” His lips were against her ear, so she wasn’t certain whether she felt the words or heard them.

“’Wrong’, Lord M? Oh no, surely not. What could possibly be more right?” Victoria lifted her face to his so he could kiss her lips, and touched his face with her hand, softly stroking his smooth cheek.

“If you hadn’t spent so much time at your Levée this afternoon we could have found a far better way to occupy ourselves,” Melbourne teased, knowing it for an obligation she would happily forgo if she could.

“Lord M! I am shocked! When you yourself stressed the importance of receiving those notables who are entitled to a few minutes of my time. If you were willing to sit beside me, you could keep my attention focused and my motivation strong.”

Melbourne had previously stood to her left and just slightly behind her at formal receptions, both as Prime Minister and then senior advisor. Since becoming her husband, he attempted to avoid all formal duties as consort to the queen formerly fulfilled by HRH Prince Albert. Melbourne declined amiably enough, less from humility than the realization any appearance on his part of rising too far above his peers would only inspire hostility toward the Queen’s marriage. His old position was of course occupied by the current Prime Minister and Victoria sensibly disputed his offer to stand in the crowd, within her line of sight. As much as she wanted, even needed, his presence she did not want him to endure the ordeal of standing for several hours, even though he bore few traces of his two apoplectic strokes.

“I should really consider myself fortunate anyone wants to attend,” Victoria said suddenly, thinking aloud. “Did you know how much _effort_ it entails?” She told him what she had learned about the requirements for attending a formal afternoon reception.

Noblemen and gentlemen who proposed to attend were requested to bring with them two cards, with their names written thereon, one left with the Queen’s page in attendance in the  presence chamber, and the other to the Lord in Waiting who would announce the name. After the fiasco in ’39 when Lord M himself committed the faux pas of presenting to the Queen an infamous socialist, publisher of treatises railing against the Church of England and religion in general, it was decided that the names of those to be presented be submitted well ahead of time for vetting. Petitions must be written legibly on two cards and no other address was permitted to be made to the Queen on the subject, this last to spare Victoria the necessity of listening and being forced to respond to impromptu pleas. Deputations were blessedly limited to four persons, this last at the recommendation of Melbourne also, considering it undesirable for Her Majesty to have to content with a larger number of prosing men, each requiring their own turn to speak. The names of ladies to be presented, along with the names of those ladies who would be presenting them, were required to be submitted no later than noon on the preceding Friday for approval. Every detail including the precise measure and placement of the feathers in their coiffure was spelled out by the Lord Chamberlain’s office.

“It sounds quite horrible for them too, Lord M. I never realized…” While she was talking she watched Melbourne try and discard several snowy white neck cloths before achieving the precise effect he desired. When he brushed his hair Victoria ran her fingers gently through it, mussing his curls as she’dlonged to do before she’d dared.

“Mrs. Melbourne,” he said in a tone of playful exasperation. “Whatever am I to do with you?”

His valet met them in the outer room, holding the tight ceremonial tailcoat heavy with gold braid. It was quite Victoria’s favorite item of apparel for gentlemen – at least, _this_ one, she corrected herself. No other man wore it to such advantage as Lord Melbourne with his trim figure and narrow waist. Her blue eyes sparkled with admiration.

“Must I wear a sash as well?” He asked in creditable imitation of a sulky boy. Victoria nodded, indicating her own Garter regalia, the blue satin band fixed to her waist. In doing so, her glance rested on the exotic floral corsage pinned to the sleeve of her dress.

“I received your orchid, Lord M. I didn’t know they grow in your absence.” Melbourne lightly touched a petal, examining the bloom with a critical eye. “But what does this one _mean_? I could not find any orchids in the book.”

“They did not grow at Brocket Hall. Our son and I have commandeered a small corner in the Windsor greenhouses where we have a few plants. As to meaning, not all flowers have a secret meaning. Have I created an appetite I can’t satisfy?” They shared an intimate smile. “Orchids need no hidden meaning. Very simply, a beautiful flower for a beautiful woman. Orchids represent love, luxury, beauty and strength, and in you I see all of those attributes. In ancient Greece, orchids were associated with virility. In fact, Greek women believed that if the father of their unborn child ate large, new orchid tubers, the baby would be a boy.”

“’Ate’? Then we are fortunate we have our boy because as lovely as this is, I’m not sure you would want to _eat_ it.”

“That’s because you are looking at the blossom. You might think differently if you were to see the bulb from which it grows. Or at least understand what the Greeks saw. How do you know I didn’t consume one? I might have only had the one chance to make our boy. Nothing in life is guaranteed.”

Melbourne stood back and held his arms wide. “Well, ma’am, do I meet with your approval?”

Victoria’s grin came as she looked at him standing before her, breathtakingly handsome in his Windsor uniform, and quickly flickered out like a candle. Melbourne saw the fear on her face for the first time, saw the tears threatening to spill over.

“Sweetheart, come, look at me.” He bent so he could look squarely into her eyes, his own kind and concerned. Victoria blinked back tears and scowled to disguise her feelings.

“Shall we cancel? There is no one who matters in the least invited tonight. We can have them all turned away without ever stepping foot inside the castle. That is one of the benefits of having an army to command.” He showed her a crooked little smile, kissing her forehead.

“Then it will appear as if I am _afraid_ ,” she protested, aware that she was whining in undignified tones.

“It will appear as if you are the Queen, exercising her right to have whims,” he smiled more broadly. “Or perhaps as if you preferred to retire with your husband.”

“No,” Victoria said grudgingly. “We will do as you suggested. Only – what if you’re only doing this to have an excuse to flaunt your mistress under my nose? Ooooh, it’s so difficult, having my best friend, most trusted advisor and husband be one and the same. I can’t talk to you about _you_.”

Melbourne only laughed. “You should have thought of that before and married a scoundrel. Someone you very much disliked, so we could discuss him at length and I could advise you on ways to keep him in check. As it is, you are married to the man who loves you beyond reason. If I had a mistress, which I emphatically do not, it would not be that one who has caused me so much difficulty. And I would definitely not seek to flaunt this imaginary being under your nose. I have made mistakes in the past and learned from them, but I was never accused of being cruel. And,” he tipped up her chin so she faced him. “I. Love. You. No one else, not even a little. You. Now, do you want to do this?”

“Are you sure that it will change anything if she sees that we are happy and she cannot have you back?”

“No…” Melbourne said slowly. “I am not sure of anything, except the fact that we will walk in as a couple and walk out as one. I’ve never known her to be stupid, for all her other flaws, and I would think vanity alone would prevent her setting herself up as rival to a beautiful woman much younger than she is. A beautiful woman who, in addition to being the love of my life, has given me my heart’s desire in allowing me to be a father again. So…what is it? Shall we entertain our motley assortment of guests or call the thing off and hope she eventually tires of her scheming and finds something new to hold her attention? Your happiness and peace are all that matter to me.”

Victoria took a deep breath and straightened her spine, holding herself erect. Melbourne saw her features compose themselves into a beautiful, distant mask, as expressionless and unreachable as a marble statute. He tucked her hand in his arm and together they walked out to face down Victoria’s nemesis.

**

The Duchess of Kent stood beside Emma Portman, her expression coolly distasteful. She knew, of course she knew, the significance of the woman to whom Lady Portman was speaking.  She had spent most of her life in a world where men had their mistresses, both lowborn and high, and one was frequently required to swallow one’s distaste and regard them with civil indifference. But she also knew _this_ woman had stepped far beyond the expected behavior of a royal mistress – for one could call her nothing else, setting herself up in opposition to the Queen. Victoire considered herself a woman of the world, and while she could tolerate the hordes of bastard children running the halls of her brother-in-law’s palaces and countenance her brother’s dalliance with an actress, she could no more excuse this woman’s boldness than she could overlook her husband’s long time relationship – almost a left-hand marriage – with Julie St. Laurent. As far as she was concerned, there were lines beyond which mistresses did not go and this _schlampe_ had crossed them all.

Emma Portman was no respecter of persons when it came to defending those she loved, but she too was constrained by the demands of etiquette. What she wanted to say she could not. _For God’s sake woman, get some dignity. You were never the friend he loved best, as you boast – that was me. Romantic love? That was given once to Caro and now to our Victoria. You may have temporarily held sway over_ some _part of him, but it was never his heart._ And then she would slap her, once, twice, until her teeth rattled in her head and those black eyes rolled back. Of course, she could not, but the image caused a smile to curve across her features.

And so the two of them stood, discussing the weather at great length and in excruciating detail.

Caroline Norton was a striking woman. She and her two sisters had once been considered the most beautiful girls in England, the “Three Graces.” Compelling dark eyes flashed out of a changeable complexion which paled to alabaster or flushed lusty rose depending on her mood. Glossy black hair framed fine features. She had an electrifying quality about her and had long prided herself on the words of more than one admiring acquaintance who claimed she had the same startling presence Lady Caroline Lamb once had. Nobody could fail to notice her no matter how crowded the room, and while male admirers flocked to her side, as many females pined for her friendship as despised her promiscuous character. If she felt a trace of hesitation or uncertainty in the Queen’s drawing room, surrounded by the Queen’s friends and attendants, even the Queen’s own mother, it was not evident. Her gaze was hungry and almost predatory as she scanned the room, returning only bored, disinterested responses to the conversational gambits directed her way.

Lady Portman positioned herself to face the door so she would see them enter first but as if some sixth sense alerted her, the Norton woman pivoted and without a backward glance slunk toward Victoria and William. ‘ _Slink’_ , _like a cat, sleek and deadly, stalking its prey_ , she thought. _Oh, William, there were so many others to choose from, there always have been. Why this one?_

There was only one Lord of the Household present, and he a wan, effeminate young man left over from the Prince Consort’s favorites. He would be no help, Emma thought. It would be up to her to do the honors.

Lord Melbourne wore his courtier’s smile, gracious and slightly amused. His body language, Emma thought, was his tell. Tall and elegant in his uniform, she saw the tension he carried in his shoulders, the way his whole body curved just slightly toward the Queen as if to protect her.

Her Majesty stood most regally at her husband’s side, appearing taller, with perfect posture, her shoulders drawn back proudly. Emma knew the pretty little face could be animated, warm with affection, laughing and chattering with her intimates, but this was _Victoria Regina_ , the sovereign, no hint of affection or even personality evident in her remote expression. Just as Melbourne’s body leaned towards her, so hers, even with impeccable posture, was drawn toward his. As foolish as Emma fondly knew he could be, she also knew firsthand just how completely besotted with his wife William was. Emma, having seen how it was before he did, could have reassured him very early on that their little Queen fully returned his affection – frankly adored her Lord M – but she’d resolved to let it play out as it was meant to without interference. Of course, that had nearly gone badly awry and she did not intend to let these silly creatures do anything to risk separation again.

Mrs. Norton must have known it would be an unforgivable faux pas to present herself to the Queen even at this informal a gathering. She strode boldly up to the couple and summoned Willie Cowper – literally summoned him, Emma saw, by snapping her fingers – to her side. William Cowper, eldest son of Emily Lamb, had little of his mother’s fierce family loyalty, Emma decided as she watched him hasten to obey. She had wondered whether the Duchess of Sutherland, one of the Queen’s other long-time ladies in waiting, might present her close friend Mrs. Norton and surmised that lady’s conspicuous absence meant the Duke had forbade her to play a role.

Emma moved smoothly into place at the Queen’s side just as Will was making the introductions, and thought that she already detected a malicious gleam in _La Norton_ ’s black eyes.

Rather than extend her hand as she would have been compelled to do at a formal Court presentation, Victoria only nodded acknowledgment of the woman’s stiff curtsy and Melbourne bowed the least amount possible without openly snubbing a guest.

“Mrs. Norton, please permit Lady Portman to introduce you to our other guests.” Victoria’s lovely speaking voice was carefully modulated, with little warmth, but when Emma glanced up it was in time to see the Queen raise her chin in a small gesture of defiance. _So she’s willing to fight,_ Emma thought. _Good for her!_

__

_Orchid: A beautiful woman - love, luxury, beauty and strength_


	24. Chapter 24

Crown Imperial

Melbourne had given the situation a great deal of thought. Was there anything to be gained by this last-ditch attempt to pacify an unstable, dramatically inclined ex-mistress by bringing her to Windsor, to court, to his wife? He had nothing to go by save the woman’s own words, not least her refusal to believe he had married for love, nor the most her obsessive belief that presentation to the Queen would restore her lost reputation and establish her credibly in society once more. Had Victoria refused or even suggested unwillingness, he would have instantly abandoned the effort. Now it was too late – the woman was here, and it was he more than Victoria who was consumed by dread.

Anything resembling a tête-à-tête would have encouraged rather than dampened the woman’s pretensions; moreover, meeting with her alone would have occasioned speculation by others and given her imagination free rein to invent whatever story she felt would put her in the best light as victim.

Caroline dwelled on her perceived victimization, by her husband, by her lovers, by society itself and by the Queen. An identity based on self-pity had cost her more than she knew, tarnishing even her credibility as a serious author. If she had followed the path of earlier writers and embraced feminist ideals she might have garnered a following, but she repudiated those who demanded rights for women and viciously mocked those females who considered themselves the equal of men. Thus Melbourne knew any approach outside the view of observers would have permitted her to sell a tale of abuse.

Including her on anything even remotely formal would have been too public a declaration and she would have no doubt risen to the occasion, for she loved playing to an audience. Victoria’s dignity was second only to her emotional comfort in her husband’s concerns, and he would not subject her to a dramatic public performance by Caroline Norton.

Instead they had invited her to dine with a small group of trusted friends. Norton would have preferred Lord Melbourne present her and had been pestering him for years to that end. He found the very idea of being the one to introduce her offensive. Melbourne thought it unfortunate that his nephew, so recently widowed after only a few months’ marriage to a young woman well liked by the family, had fallen under Norton’s spell, but was not concerned enough to intervene. Clearly it rendered his choice as Her Majesty’s private secretary unsustainable, but otherwise might give him a valuable if hard-won education.

Victoria had handled herself brilliantly at dinner, with no one suspecting that beneath the glamorous exterior lay fear and insecurity. She had long since perfected her ability to hide all emotion behind an impassive demeanor and had more recently refined a remote sophisticated veneer. During what seemed to be an interminable meal with endless courses – although in point of fact the footmen were stumbling over themselves to whisk away plates at near-record pace – Melbourne watched Victoria covertly. He had felt heart-swelling pride on more occasions than he could count, watching her address both Houses of Parliament, put veteran diplomats at ease and face down her own contentious Privy Council, but in the unforgiving spotlight of this small group under the most awkward, even painful circumstance imaginable, her poise was impeccable. Melbourne could scarcely reconcile the elegant, self-possessed young woman graciously conversing with each of her guests with the trembling girl he had so recently held. No observer would guess she harbored any trepidation – any strong feeling at all – toward the striking black-haired beauty whose own self-assurance seemed forced by comparison.

Melbourne was sure at some point in the distant past he must have found Caroline Norton attractive, but now her strident presence demanding notice, swooping vowels and throaty laughter, the vivacity she worked so hard to exude only seemed cheap and rather pathetic beside Victoria’s quietly self-possessed, dignified manner.

He supposed he had once found her company scintillating, her presence alluring. The route he traveled from his office to South Street took him past the lady’s Storey Gate house and for several years his visits had been a daily occurrence. He had been attracted by her openly flirtatious manner and the clear partiality she showed for him above all her other admirers had been most gratifying. At her best Caroline had the sort of strong, memorable personality and singularity of manner which had always attracted him, as opposites will.

Melbourne acknowledged that he had been infatuated, intoxicated by the heady brew of sexual pleasure and flattering regard with which she lavished him. Yet even then he knew it was not love. He did not think of marrying her, resisted her attempts to ingratiate herself with his family, his son and his ward. When Susan was sent away in the company of Lady Branden, Caroline had been furious, angry at his refusal to put the girl in her care. Emily and Fred had declared her _common_ , cheap, giddy and dangerous and even at the time Melbourne had concurred. Yet all that seemed so far in the past he had no recollection of what it felt like to be that man, flouting convention, propriety and even his treasured family’s regard for the sake of possessing a creature who now made him feel only slightly ill. _Fornarina_ , he recalled derisively. Of all the damn fool things he’d done and later regretted, this connection was the one he regretted most.

They had dined in the smaller, more intimate chamber – with only twelve at table there was no need for a larger space – and the stuffiness of the room was making his head ache worse. Melbourne was proficient at maintaining a politician’s cordial expression, mellow and even slightly amused, but Victoria had glanced at him several times throughout the meal, first with curiosity and then concern. On several occasions her hand reach for his under the table and he squeezed it gratefully. They had no opportunity for private conversation and Melbourne realized how ironic it was that he drew comfort from Victoria when it should be the reverse. He knew it should be him offering her solace, but in fact she was surprising him with her aplomb. He damned the oddness of the situation, rendering him helpless to protect his precious girl from an inevitable emotional battering, cursed the social usage which prevented him from dealing with this obstreperous female as one of the lower orders would. But that too would probably be futile, Melbourne thought, remembering with disgust her exhilaration when she was able to push Norton to use his fists and boots, with even more revulsion her concerted efforts to likewise rouse him to such unbridled rage. For a woman who lived to be the center of attention – the blood of her Sheridan ancestors called from the stage – nothing was more stimulating or ultimately satisfying than to trigger a man’s helpless fury. Even then – especially then – she gloried in her sense of victorious control.

When Melbourne viewed the others at table he saw a memorable tableau, Victoria at her best, Norton at her worst, Emma Portman’s gaze moving continually from one to the other as though at a play. The Duchess of Kent on her dignity, thin patrician features arranged into an expression of distaste that strongly suggested the presence of noxious fumes. The others – Melbourne’s niece Lady Ashley-Cooper and her husband, his nephew Will – closest to an ally Caroline had amongst those present – Emily Eden and her brother, George Von Wettin, Baroness Lehzen and Daniel Cameron – wore expressions ranging from dismay to frank interest to open amusement.

When Victoria rose to lead the ladies into the drawing room Melbourne rested his hand lightly at her waist, less to elicit the wide-eyed look of pained shock Mrs. Norton displayed than to ground himself.

“Don’t be long,” Victoria mouthed as she prepared to depart. Then, pausing as the others assembled near the door, she whispered, “Are you quite all right, Lord M?” Melbourne forced a reassuring smile.

“I am when I look at you,” he murmured back. “Let’s end this thing as speedily as possible. Will you be all right in there?”

“I’m fine,” she said, but he saw her troubled expression and dared stroke her cheek with a finger. Victoria smiled up at him and swept out, not looking back, depending on Emma to herd the others behind her.

As soon as the ladies departed, as footmen brought in brandy and port, Melbourne beckoned his nephew.

“I am sorry your mother could not attend,” he said. “I had need to speak to her.” He paused to allow the younger man to stammer some excuse for his parent’s absence. “I need you to bring this to her immediately.” Melbourne displayed the note to his sister he'd prepared.

“Now, sir? But – I have escorted Mrs. Norton and I cannot leave her –“

“Oh, but you must depend on me to ensure she is escorted home. I’m afraid my business can’t wait.” Melbourne’s expression remained mild, but his green eyes were stern, brooking no refusal. He handed a sealed envelope to his nephew and stared without further speech until Will Cowper took it and bowed. Satisfied that he had accomplished at least one of his goals, he turned to the other gentlemen and offered libation.

By pre-arrangement card tables had been set up and the Duchess of Kent and Lady Portman drafted partners, leaving seats vacant at each table for those gentlemen who would be expected to participate. When Lord Melbourne brought the men in Von Wettin was implored to play the piano – Victoria reminded him with a warm smile how sorely she missed their evening _musicales_ during those years when Prince Albert hosted informal entertainments in his apartment – and with good grace the young architect complied. Everyone disposed of save Daniel Cameron, who paced restlessly before throwing himself into a chair and scowling with his usual expression of general discontent, Melbourne sat beside Victoria in his usual place, leaving Caroline Norton as though by accident with nowhere to go save the chair opposite them. At the piano, George began to play the opening bars of some piece which sounded as ominous as the ordeal they were about to endure, and a most effective means of giving them privacy in plain sight for the poison he knew Mrs. Norton would spew.

“So…this is when you confront me then?” Caroline Norton’s gaze was amused and contemptuous as she surveyed Melbourne and then rested on his wife, but he thought he sensed some unease beneath her show of _savoir faire_.

Victoria shrugged. “If you say so. You’ve long demanded that Lord Melbourne present you to me. This is not a _Court_ presentation, but here you are nonetheless.” Melbourne almost smirked, thinking that his wife was feeling feisty indeed. Her demeanor was cool and calm and she gave every sign of being in complete control, of herself and the situation. Under normal circumstances that would be expected, not unusual, but of course this was far from a normal circumstance. Despite the pounding in his head, over his right temple, and the nausea rising in the back of his throat, Melbourne maintained an impassive mien, only permitting the slightest twitch of his lip when he met his wife’s gaze. Victoria said no more, merely waited, head inclined expectantly. For several long minutes no one spoke and to his great amusement, Melbourne saw Norton begin to look visibly uncomfortable.

“Very well. Yes, I wanted to meet you. As the Queen, the only woman in this kingdom with control of your own destiny. And as – as the woman whom I should believe has succeeded me in William’s affection.” Her throaty voice retained its power to captivate but even the slightest stutter gave her away. This woman did not falter easily, Melbourne knew.

“And now you have.” Victoria might have been hearing a servant explain some minor matter, perhaps a mishap in the kitchen or gown ruined in the cleaning process.

Melbourne was intrigued now. He had seen Caroline Norton in many situations, but none in which she was anything but in charge. Even at her most histrionic, pleading with him on her knees in front of his horrified colleagues at Downing Street, it was she who chose the time, the place and the tenor of every interaction, she who wrote the script and directed the performance. Now she appeared nonplussed. Melbourne knew she had a low opinion of the Queen as a woman – she had expressed it many times in company – and had considered her a negligible adversary. She had, of course, been quite wrong. His Victoria was not readily dismissed or compartmentalized.

She seemed to collect herself and summon up her persuasive powers. Her mouth twisted into what should resemble a compassionate, even pitying smile for Victoria.

“You are now the age I was when his love burned brightest, you know. Five and twenty. I was barely one and twenty when first he noticed me. Every day without fail he would appear at Storey Gate, eager to tell me all the events and struggles of his day, to pour out his woes and find solace at my breast.” The woman’s voice was low, rich and had a nearly hypnotic cadence. Melbourne glanced quickly at Victoria, to see her reaction. She was sitting quietly, hands folded in her lap, rapt as though watching the opening scene of a play. He saw no emotion whatsoever on her face, nothing save a mild interest and willingness to listen.

“It is in the nature of women, that we always believe our own case to be peculiar, that we alone hold the key to a man’s heart and can be expected to be treated better than those who came before us. I have struggled with hope and fear both, thinking myself better loved than those who came before me. Mrs. Lamb, Lady Branden and all those in between. I suppose you likewise think you are the first and yours is the special case. The first to truly capture his heart, the first to hear those whispers of love he pours in your ear. Does he teach you lingua flora, the language of flowers, to speak of his affection?”

Melbourne was aghast, and all at once the headache plaguing him stabbed a knife sharply into his temple, through his right eye. He knew he winced visibly – he was unable to control it, a reflex – but whether he winced from the pain in his head or his heart, he wasn’t sure. Humiliation burned through him, humiliation because she was right, there was nothing new he could offer Victoria. Only his love itself burnt bright and new. He wanted to look at her and found himself unable, staring straight ahead, eyes full of hate for this woman determined to break and destroy everything he held precious.

“You did, didn’t you? Poor thing!” Now her voice was caressing, even as the strident chords of Gyorgy Ligeti crashed about them like a thunderstorm, drowning out all ambient sound so even those seated next to each other must strain to hear their neighbor.

“I wish someone had warned me, as I am warning you now. But would I have listened? No, just as you now, I would have thought only _I_ knew those secret things which passed between us. Only _I_ knew how those green eyes blaze, only _I_ knew –“

“You become repetitious, Madame,” Victoria said sweetly. “I wouldn’t want you to use up all your time restating the obvious. I believe you are saying that what passed between you and my husband was unique to you, to that time and place and that relationship. Very well. That is a reasonable assertion. I think no two events can ever be exactly the same. Pray continue.” Now, despite Von Wettin’s _fortissimo_ interpretation echoing in time with the pulse points flashing behind his eyes Melbourne did smile, openly, proudly even, his expression showing the depth of affection he felt for Victoria. He almost began to think she could carry this and emerge triumphant. Mrs. Norton turned her attention to him.

“Do you recall, my Lord, you once asked me rather a conceited question as to how I stood affected to you by absence. I told you then, your absence makes no difference with me. Nothing can alter the bond between us and I know if your heart forgets your loins do not. Nor can a mere girl satisfy all your _whims_ as completely as I can. I have your letters to remind me. Now that you are so extremely absent I can only re-read those letters and remember how they stirred me. Ma’am,” she turned with presumed artlessness to the Queen. “You are missing so much by not insisting Lord Melbourne absent himself more frequently from your side. I vow, he can pour more passion onto paper than most men can in-“

“Caroline, you forget yourself, if indeed you ever had the manners expected to make yourself agreeable in society,” Emma Portman snapped, trying and failing to keep her voice low. She had risen from the card table and stood at Victoria’s other side.

“I do apologize. I was invited here to say what I have wished to say, or so I thought. Was I wrong?”

Victoria did not smile, nor did she frown. She still wore that expression of mild, detached interest, Melbourne saw, though the blurring of his eyes. He had suffered migraine before, as a young man, and more recently the advent of head pain such as this heralded his apoplexy. He neither knew nor cared which, was only determined to see this through without collapsing.

“Not at all. Is there more?” Victoria questioned Mrs. Norton politely, inviting her to continue. That woman turned her attention to Lord Melbourne.

“I never threatened to publish your letters – I only said I _could_ – and therefore it was curious to see how you must have relied on my bearing the harshness you’ve shown me when you were uneasy, and which you might have spared me today.” Caroline leaned forward and took one of Melbourne’s hands in both of hers. He attempted to resist and almost found humor in the spectacle anyone in the room might have seen, had they looked at just that moment. He tugged sharply, a gesture which seemed to amuse the woman clutching them before she was jostled back by his breaking free.

Before anyone could react, Caroline Norton was out of her seat and knelt before Melbourne’s chair. She clasped his hand in hers and looked up at him, her black eyes hot.

“Until you taught me I did not know what love was. I served my husband with cheerfulness, thinking that since I did not attach that would substitute. My life has been divided into the days I saw you and the days I did not — nothing else seemed of importance but you; your opinions, — even your fancies  - for you have had them -  have been laws to me. You did love me once, you lavished love and attention on me. I gave you all and now you dismiss me from your life as more bother than I am worth and I can’t bear it, I tell you, I can’t bear it. At least leave me with this. Admit I was the woman you loved best. More than your wife, far more than all those women who set themselves up as your rivals. More than this royal girl can ever be, _I am the one you loved best._ Admit it! Say it, I beseech you, and I will leave you be."

Melbourne looked on, rigid and horrified at the display, this woman sprawled at his feet, hands clasped in appeal. Victoria rose and slowly clapped her hands, once, twice, thrice.

“Bravo, ma’am, bravo! That was _magnificent._ Pray accept my congratulations for an astounding performance. Miss Kimble’s dramatic turns are a pale shadow to yours.”

Like a cat, Caroline Norton sprang to her feet, and like a cat, looked as though she might spit with fury.

“You – you – you are a child. A silly little girl. You know _nothing._ Lady Augusta Ponsonby serves as one of your ladies – do you know she was your husband’s mistress? Lady Stanhope? I believe her daughter is even one of your attendants” She looked down, smiling meaningfully. “Has he then had every one of the others presented already? Lady Branden too, or is she still in exile with little Susan? Am I the last?”

Victoria smiled pleasantly. “I’ve met many of my husband’s friends. I am pleased to do so. Although you quite date yourself – ‘little Susan’ is wife and mother to several children now. She is several years older than I am. But then you knew William so very _long ago_ , I’m sure it’s difficult to keep track of the passing years. I understand you used to resort to keeping a list of those you hated because you perceived them to be your rivals. Quite practical I suppose, when one has as many enemies as you."

“Indeed? So open-minded in one so young and so very German,” Norton tried for a sneer to conceal her dismay, seemingly unable to believe she did not have the upper hand.

Melbourne forced his eyes to remain open against the nearly unbearable glare of candelabra and gas lighting which seemed to cast golden auras around every solid object. He attempted to shut out the soaring angry notes of the pianoforte, as grateful as he was for the music George so dutifully played. When he spoke his voice was cold and his words clearly enunciated.

“I cannot convince you that you made an error in judgment _then_ , when you assumed a flirtation to be more significant than it was, or, more probably, that it was far more to your credit to get and hold a Prime Minister than the poor bargain you’d made in your marriage. There is nothing left for you to tell my wife and nothing you can say or do to interfere in our marriage. Ours is a love match made against far greater odds than any think to throw in our path. Get your divorce by whatever means and marry Sidney Herbert if he’ll have you. I think he’ll be generous with your favors. But choose wisely for once, Caroline. Let self-interest determine your course and not angry spite. We can do you some good or significant harm. The choice is yours.”

Although Caroline Norton was several inches taller than the Queen, Victoria gave the appearance of looking down at her. “You have our permission to withdraw.”

_Crown Imperial: Majesty, Power_


	25. Chapter 25

Camellia Japonica

Lord Melbourne lay back, his head resting on the pillow, eyes open just enough to make out the familiar contours of his bedroom.

His friend and physician Henry Holland had come and gone, riding out to Windsor at near midnight in formal attire, having been tracked down at the opera. Melbourne felt chagrin at having so upended the man’s night on a useless errand, yet he supposed he was glad for the reassurance that what ailed him was no more than the excruciating pain of a migraine headache. He’d been given a sedative injected under the skin using an ingenious hollow needle device and although still quite awake, Melbourne felt the lulling soporific drain at least some of the physical tension away.

He had expelled Victoria from his room several times before but each time she found her way back. Sir Henry finally coaxed her away by insisting that she did more harm than good upsetting her husband with her presence, when like any man he wished to preserve his dignity. Melbourne had caught only a glimpse of her stricken face but that was enough to add to the burden of guilt he already carried.

The savage pain still cleaving his skull, the waves of vicious nausea racking his body, were a welcome distraction to those thoughts crowding his mind and Melbourne was perversely reluctant to part with the physical misery. He cringed inwardly when he recalled the vituperative taunts hurled at Victoria, when he thought of how he had been diminished in her eyes, when his mind turned to the inescapable fact that everything said was if not necessarily true, then factually correct.

He felt the black dog of depression slinking closer, promising to inhabit every corner of his mind and accepted its approach as inevitable. Beyond the searing agony in his head a greater wound threatened to tear him apart in the same way every ugly word tore apart the fragile, ephemeral secret world only the two of them inhabited.

Victoria had not been looking at him when Caroline spoke but he knew she’d flinched inwardly, though she showed nothing but steel. Melbourne thought of that special look, the way Victoria gazed up at him through the years, her blue eyes wide with raw adoration, her sweet face wreathed in visible wonder as though she saw someone no one else saw. That look had revived him, had nourished and strengthened and enlivened him when he thought nothing could, and he couldn’t bear to see its absence. She now knew that everything he’d given her was shabby and secondhand, that every word of love, every endearment, even the damned flower game she played with such zest had been used before, cheapened by repetition. The only thing he had for her that was new and bright and shiny was his love, and how could she believe that when everything else was only a cheap imitation? Victoria, who deserved everything new and bright and good. He had known himself for what he was when he tried to turn her away. Was it too late for her to find the real thing, the genuine unsullied devotion she deserved?

His thoughts raced until they didn’t, until the blessed relief of the narcotic took away the pain and he slept.

His dreams were disordered. Melbourne found himself in a place both familiar and outlandishly strange, surrounded by faces of those dearest to him but changed all the same. He felt the tug of a vertiginous energy pulling at him, swirling in his mind. For the first time, the place he went in his dreams, as chill and bleak as it was, drew him and he wanted to stay. In that place, there was no sunshine, no light, no warmth but neither was there anything left to fight for or against. It suddenly seemed…peaceful.

Something pulled him back so suddenly he felt a visceral _whooosh_ , his organs jostling before they settled back into place. _What an odd sensation_ , was his first thought _, as though I was flying_. He wondered idly whether he’d been on the brink of death, or even beyond, and found he didn’t particularly care, except in an intellectually curious fashion.

His head still ached, but only a hollow reminder of the previous torment. His heart… _ah, that was another matter_. The ache there, an absence rather than a presence, would not so easily be medicated away with the physician’s tools.

Only when he shifted position did Melbourne become aware she was there. Beside the bed, as though not daring to drew any closer, he saw Victoria hunched awkwardly. She still wore her lovely gown, and a tiara still glinted in dark hair tumbled in disarray. She clutched his hand in both of hers, face pressed to the palm. He could feel her lips kissing his hand, feel her face wet with tears. _I can’t bear this_ , he thought miserably. _I never meant to hurt her and I can’t bear seeing what I’ve caused in this glorious girl_. He meant to turn away, to dive back down into that foggy nether world, but she became aware he’d wakened and looked up at him. That sweet precious face was his undoing, those wet eyes overlarge, pupils dilated in the darkness so they looked like bottomless wells of emotion. No, he never meant to hurt her, Melbourne thought, but now he was stuck – go forward and free her and cause her pain, yet how could they go back?

Melbourne reflexively moved to make room and drew her up. “Sweetheart – ma’am, what’s wrong? Surely Holland told you it was only a headache and I’m in no danger.” He caught a fat tear on his fingertip and felt for a handkerchief to offer. He wore only a nightshirt and so he used some of the voluminous sleeve to wipe her face for her as he would a child’s.

Victoria had been sobbing so hard her breath came in hiccupping gasps. Melbourne did all he could, pulling her against him so she could cry herself out. He held her, murmuring soothing sounds against her hair, until she calmed.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked quietly, anticipating the only thing which could cause such turmoil, knowing that for him, the death knell was imminent. She could not divorce – he would explain that if she didn’t already know – but he would leave quietly, retire to Melbourne Hall and wait for actual physical death. Surely it wouldn’t be overlong – she was his mainspring, his life force and without her he would fade away quickly.

“Victoria, I understand. It will be all right, you’ll see,” Melbourne gentled his voice. How could she doubt him? Did she really think he would fight her? No, surely not; she had to know his love for her was everlasting. “Now…talk to me if you wish. If not, we’ll resolve things quietly. I’ll go away and we’ll see each other often enough to avoid scandal and speculation. Only – “ _Dare I ask? How ironic it is that in light of Caroline’s situation, I am the only man in the country with fewer rights to my children than a woman._

“Please, do not speak of it tonight. If you wish to leave me, I will not stop you. Anything – whatever you want – of course you will see the children – only I cannot bear to hear any more tonight.” Victoria pressed her face against the soft fabric of his nightshirt and surreptitiously wiped her nose with a fold of cloth. Melbourne smiled at the childlike gesture before he understood her muffled words.

“Victoria, I do not _wish_ to leave you. I will, certainly, do anything that ensures your comfort and well-being but pray, spare me at least that much blame. I could never _wish_ to leave you.”

“You don’t?” She looked up cautiously, and he saw her tiara askew. Without asking, he untangled it from the pins meant to hold it in place and removed it.

“No,” Melbourne replied slowly, dragging out the word. “I don’t expect you want me as your husband after – after knowing what you do. I understand and I am prepared for that.”

Victoria sniffed mightily and then pushed herself up, away from him. Her eyes narrowed in calculation.

“You assume that what I heard tonight upset me, and it did. And because it upset me, you think to leave me – excuse me, to _offer_ to leave me – rather than stay and see me upset? Because it’s not _comfortable_ for you? In effect you _dismiss_ me as ‘more trouble than I am worth’?”

Melbourne readily recognized those words, and he rolled his eyes, threw up his hands. “So you prefer to throw up every vile thing she said tonight every time it suits you? That promises to be a delightful prospect. Why do women prefer slow torture to a clean amputation?”

“’Women’? How dare you? Do you lump me in with that very long list of women you’ve had?” Victoria’s voice rose in outrage.

“If there are more commonalities than differences in certain circumstances then it seems fair to do so.”

“Excuse me. You are far more experienced at this than I am, clearly. Do you have this conversation with every woman you leave when it becomes troublesome to remain? Please, tell me my part. I do this for the first time.”

“Hardly the first, ma’am. I recall we’ve played this scene already several times. I wish to withdraw _for your own good_ and you pursue me, devise stratagems to trap me and draw me back in.”

“Trap you? _Trap you?_ Is that what I did?” Victoria leapt up, eyes blazing and tears quite forgotten. She looked about frantically. Her gaze settled on a water pitcher on the night table and she hesitated for a moment in which Melbourne suspected she might empty it on him before she hurled it against the far wall.

He was satisfied at what he saw, Victoria’s anger empowering her, giving her strength, wiping away all trace of the heartbroken girl who had sobbed on his shoulder. _Now_ , he thought, _she will know her own worth and see mine without the blinders of first love._ The effort he’d expended caused the painful pressure on his temples to ratchet up and he leaned back against the pillows, exhausted, willing her to leave. He closed his eyes and concentrated on steadying his breath, unwilling to display any more weakness. _I have nothing else left; allow me to keep my dignity_ , he thought. _Just go away and leave me in peace_. He heard the rustle of skirts, the slight creak of a floorboard and was grateful.

“Now see what you’ve done. Your poor head hurts again.” Victoria had dampened a cloth and wiped his forehead. Her soft hands pushed back his hair and it felt so good he sighed in spite of himself.  She raised his head to straighten the pillows, then gently laid him down. Melbourne wanted to resist, wanted to sit back up and coolly send her away, but he did not have it in him. Instead he lay quietly, willing the pain to relent, wishing she would soothe him. He craved her touch, the sound of her voice, the comfort of her presence. Perhaps, he thought, if I’ve earned any sort of peace, this is the advent of a true stroke and it can all end tonight, while I have her beside me.

“Can I get you anything?” Victoria whispered, her face so close to his he could inhale her sweet breath. “No? Then I will return in a very few minutes.”

Melbourne felt as forlorn as a child when she left him - the effects of the narcotic he’d taken, his mind offered hopefully – and struggled with regret. He thought she would not return, for surely she’d already shown more forbearance than he deserved, and when she did he was ridiculously grateful. Victoria had shed her court dress and jewels and slipped under the covers beside him in her shift. With something like wonder Melbourne reflected on the inexplicable fact of her presence, her tenderness, the love in her voice and her touch. _She hasn’t left me, and perhaps I won’t have to leave her_ , _and perhaps this is only a migraine headache and everything else is just a fever dream_. The concept was both alien and absurdly naïve, so he likewise attributed it to the sedative still in his system. Exhausted from the effort of understanding, Melbourne turned onto his side. He pressed himself against Victoria, wrapping his arm around her so his hand rested on her stomach, and slept bathed in the sweet fragrance of her skin.

 

Sunlight was penetrating the heavy draperies in his bedchamber. He had been awakened by the sounds of his valet moving about in the adjacent bathing and dressing area, beginning preparations for the day. When he took stock Melbourne realized with a kind of gratitude that the grueling migraine had faded but the threat of depression lingered, despite the overnight comfort his wife had provided. He remembered everything clearly and wished he did not – that Victoria now knew everything was soiled, counterfeit – and his shame was only reinforced by the bowl of brilliant red-orange, multipetaled blooms which his valet had set on the dressing table at his request. Camellia japonica, Japanese Camellias – _My destiny is in your hands_. He had intended to deliver them to her rooms but now the gesture, their little game, had been ruined. How could he have forgotten doing this before? With Caro most of all, but yes, he had taught that woman too. What had she most often received? Ah yes, carnations of course. The platonic workmen of _lingua flora_. Yellow: _No_. Striped: _Maybe_. Mixed: _Health and Energy._

When Melbourne came out of his dressing room freshly bathed and shaved, in a clean shirt still untucked over riding breeches and boots, Victoria was only just waking. He loved watching her so, face softened by sleep, hair spilling about her shoulders, fresh faced and girlish, and so he sat beside her, debating the propriety of kissing her. He was not sure where they stood – had she stayed with him from compassion? Her own need or the need she perceived in him, weakened as he’d been? That thought made him flush with annoyance, angry at himself for such pathetic unmanly illness at the least opportune of times.

Victoria’s eyes were on him and he saw them darken with concern at once, reacting to the fleeting expression of pique she must have noted.

“Good morning,” Melbourne said carefully. “May I sit?” He had broken off one flower and held it between two fingers. When Victoria's eyes found it, she took it and pressed it to her lips.

“It’s your bed,” Victoria pointed out reasonably. She glanced down at her own dishabille. “Miss Skerrett will be rightfully put out. I’m afraid I tore the laces on my gown, undressing myself. And none of my jewels were locked away.”

“Overall a most unsatisfactory evening…wouldn’t you say?” Victoria’s eyes widened a bit in surprise at the levity, before she looked down and away.

“Most unsatisfactory,” she agreed, and Melbourne saw her lovely lips twitch in the suggestion of a smile. He leaned forward and kissed those lips lightly while the opportunity presented itself. “How do you feel?”

“Well, I thank you. Actually absurdly well, considering, but that’s the way those things go. I used to frequently suffer migraines, and in the aftermath one has a delicious sense of compensatory well-being.”

“It must be quite miserable. Mama sometimes suffers from them and will be laid up for days.” Melbourne and Victoria looked at each other, and each thought the silence should be awkward but instead felt rather comfortable. They each opened their mouth to speak, then stopped, grinning at the synchronicity.

“I’m afraid I wasn’t quite myself last night. Rather humiliating to be laid low by a simple headache.”

Victoria touched his face gently. “I wanted to be able to help you.”

“You did. You were very…considerate to stay with me.” Victoria looked surprised and almost put out.

“’Considerate’? William, I am your wife. Did you think I would _not_ stay with you when you were ill?”

“I did not – do not – know whether you would stay with me at all,” he spoke quietly, knowing that the matter must be resolved, if resolution was possible.

“Why would I not?” Victoria looked at him levelly, demanding explanation. He looked down at his own hands, studying them closely. Finally he raised his eyes and fixed them on her face.

“It could not have been pleasant, hearing – hearing that so much we share has been – used before.” He knew his words were stiff, ungainly and quite inadequate and could do no better.

Victoria winced but did not look away. “No, it wasn’t pleasant. But I knew you had a past. There were things said which I should not have heard, which I wish I hadn’t. They were said to wound me, and to hurt you. But nothing that was said _changes_ anything. I am your wife. You are the man I chose to love. And if I was hurt, you are the one who will heal me.”

She took a deep breath before continuing. “I was more hurt by you deciding it would be easier to leave than it would be to stay.”

“’Easier?’ Victoria, leaving you would never be easy,” Melbourne protested.

“Easier,” she repeated firmly. He thought about what she said, finally making a small gesture of uncertainty.

“I hope that is not true. And if it is, then it is one more thing you must forgive me for.”

“There is nothing to forgive you for!” Victoria’s eyes flashed and her voice rose sharply. “William, I love you. I adore you. I have loved only you since the moment I met you. _All_ of you, disreputable past, stealer of hearts… _all of you_. It comes as no surprise that many woman have loved you too – most handsome of men, distinguished, wonderful William Lamb. But now you are all mine and I will not give you up.”

Melbourne’s green eyes burned. He held her by her shoulders and looked into her face, then deliberately put his lips on hers and kissed her deeply, surely, needing to taste her and share her exhalations.

They pulled apart quickly at a sharp knock on the bedchamber door. Victoria quickly picked up her dressing gown as Melbourne went to answer it.

The Duchess of Kent and Baroness Lehzen stood together on the threshold. Victoria frowned impatiently. Lehzen had in the past appeared unsummoned at the most inopportune times in Victoria’s own bedchamber but had never before ventured into Lord Melbourne’s.

“Yes, Lehzen? What is it?” the Queen asked sharply, her annoyance at the interruption plain. Then she saw her mother carrying the princess and her concern rose. “Is something wrong?”

 “Drina, we thought you would want to see this at once,” the German governess exclaimed excitedly. “Lord Melbourne,” she added as an afterthought. “you also.”

The Duchess smiled and set the baby down so she stood on two shaky legs, one hand clutching her grandmother’s skirts

“Walking?” Melbourne noticed first.

“Walking,” the Duchess nodded enthusiastically. “She has been preparing for weeks and this morning she is ready I think. She would have done so in the nursery but I thought her parents should be the first to see.”

Melbourne backed up several feet and crouched down holding out his arms to his daughter. The Duchess gently loosened the grip of chubby hands and stepped back. Chortling with delight, the baby princess launched herself into her father’s arms.

 

_Camellia Japonica: My destiny is in your hands_


End file.
